The Master Calls A Butterfly
by april leigh
Summary: There's a fine line, it seems, between fate and choice. How much, really, is within our control? Fate is about potential. Choice isabout fulfilling that potential.
1. 1

Title: The Master Calls A Butterfly  
  
Author: april leigh  
  
Rating: R, for language, adult situations  
  
Category: X, A, MSR, in that order. And because it took me so long to  
write this and so much has happened in the interim, Alternate Universe.  
  
Spoilers: Nothing is off limits, up to the end of the Sixth season.  
  
Timeline: Takes place about a week after the events of One Son. All of  
the events that followed that episode have not occurred in this world.  
  
Archive: Ask first  
  
Feedback: always a good thing, e-mail: aprilleigh50@hotmail.com  
  
Disclaimer: Ha! If they were mine, you would be watching this, not  
reading it.  
  
Thanks: Many thanks to nay for patiently and expertly beta-reading all  
of these many months. If I try to say more I'll just start babbling  
with gratitude. g Also, thanks to vermin, whose rather 'copious'  
advice did not in the least hinder my creative processes.  
  
Summary: There's a fine line, it seems, between fate and choice. How  
much, really, is within our control? Fate is about potential. Choice is  
about fulfilling that potential.  
  
Author's Note: This is my attempt to connect the dots, make the  
connections, and wrap nearly every dang thing up in the x-files  
universe. Well, except the bees, I don't think *anyone* could explain  
those guys. g I also want to stress that the majority of this story  
was fleshed out before the seventh season started, so anything that was  
'revealed' this past year is not taken in consideration while writing  
this story, and essentially did not happen in this world.  
  
Posting note: Because of the length of this story, I plan on posting   
this story over the course of several days. The story can be found at   
http://www.geocities.com/aprilleigh50/ in all of its parts.   
  
  
******  
The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in   
injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of   
the world, the master calls a butterfly. --Richard Bach  
* * * * * *  
  
  
Earth  
4 billion years ago  
  
* * * * * *  
Great is this organism of mud and fire,  
terrible this vast, painful, glorious  
experiment. -- George Santayana  
* * * * * *  
  
Volcanoes belched noxious gas into the turbulent atmosphere--an  
atmosphere that contained no free oxygen, only a toxic mixture of  
molecules forged from hydrogen, carbon and nitrogen. The gray barren  
ocean dominated the landscape while vigorous chemical activity took  
place in the land and water. Chemical reactions were fed by the  
volcanoes and penetrated both by lightning discharge and solar  
radiation. Meteors and comets, remnants of the creation of the solar  
system, pelted the young planet, providing both water and minerals.  
  
Along with water and minerals, one meteor provided something entirely  
different.  
  
The meteor measured a mere three meters in diameter, and the impact  
site, although significant, was rapidly lost to time and the brutal  
elements. The meteor had shattered on impact, still glowing white hot  
from its descent. Out of the ruin poured viscous black oil and the  
creature contained within it. The oil moved with a purpose, seeking out  
another life. But there was no life on this hostile landscape.  
  
And so this creature languished. The dead world had its deadly effects.  
The chemicals of the air and sea violently reacted with first the oil,  
then the life form within it, quickly breaking it down to its chemical  
components. Now, completely vulnerable, the creature could not last. The  
compounds of the earth were electrically and chemically attracted to the  
organism. Attaching directly to the creature, they interfered with all  
of the life's processes.  
  
Radiation that came unfiltered from the sun attacked on the cellular  
level. The rapidly dividing cells were vulnerable to the high-energy  
ionizing rays. The radiation destroyed the cell's ability to reproduce  
by inducing sublethal DNA breaks that with each cycle only grew worse.  
  
So quietly, and unnoticeably, the planet consumed the creature.  
  
But even as the radiation, chemicals, and the other elements attacked  
the oil's very essence, even as they broke down molecule by molecule, an  
event occurred that would change everything.  
  
As the last of the creature's DNA unwound, almost to the point of losing  
all cohesion, lightening struck the small tide pool where the process  
had been taking place, halting it. Now, with the electrical current  
changed, the DNA pulled forcefully back into its helical nature. And  
along with it came other chemical substances-- substances such as water,  
carbon dioxide, methane, and hydrogen cyanide. These elements began to  
form primitive molecules we would later recognize as sugars, amino  
acids, and nucleotides. These molecules would be the building blocks of  
proteins and nucleic acids, compounds ubiquitous to all living  
organisms.  
  
And so, life sprang forth on this insignificant planet, of a mundane  
star, on the far edge of a galaxy tucked away in a forgotten corner of  
the universe.  
  
* * * * * *  
Department of Defense  
February 19, 1999  
8:21am  
  
The smoke curled from the end of the cigarette as it was brought up to  
the old man's mouth. He inhaled, then exhaled, expelling more smoke,  
further contributing to the haze of the room. He sat silently in his  
chair, back facing the door, studying the wood paneling that covered the  
wall. Several folders lay spread out behind him on the expansive  
mahogany table.  
  
Dr. Ken Dagen stood near the door of the conference room and shifted  
nervously on his feet. Smoothing his white lab coat that bound  
uncomfortably across his large frame, he spoke again. "Sir? Sir, did you  
hear me?"  
  
"Yes I did." He did not turn to face the doctor. He continued to stare  
at the wall.  
  
Talking to the back of the chair unnerved Dagen. "Do you want us to  
begin preparations?"  
  
"We are sure that she is the one?"  
  
"Oh, yes sir. There aren't many left to chose from to begin with. So  
many died from the cancer, and then the encounters with the  
rebels... Anyway, of those few that remain, she has demonstrated the  
most latent abilities," He hesitated, looking for the correct words to  
express what he meant. "What I mean to say..."  
  
"What you mean to say is that she may already be a step or two ahead..."  
The Cigarette Smoking Man found the right words.  
  
The doctor nodded in relief. The older man understood what he was  
saying. "Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying."  
  
Several moments passed. The doctor watched the smoke softly curl,  
disembodied, from the chair as he waited for a response. He was just  
about to remind the man of his presence, when the older man spoke once  
more. "Her exposure to the antivirus... will that affect the outcome?"  
  
The doctor indicated the results he was holding in his hand. "No, it  
shouldn't. In fact, from the latest sample we were able to retrieve, we  
believe that that exposure has actually begun the process."  
  
A drag from his cancer stick. "Then proceed."  
  
The man began to leave, but hesitated. He turned back to face the room.  
"Sir? How...?" He faltered.  
  
"Follow the plan as it has been arranged."  
  
"Are you sure sir? Her partner--"  
  
He was interrupted by the older man's harsh words. "You need not concern  
yourself with her partner. He is of no significance to you."  
  
Dagen continued, although he knew it was not wise to question him. "But  
it would be so much simpler to just take her from her home--"  
  
"No." He barked the word. It came out sharp and bitten off. He took a  
moment to hide his irritation before continuing. "No, he needs to  
witness it. It will bring things home to him. Everything will take on a  
much greater significance if he is there to witness it." He said this  
evenly, the harsh tone from before absent from his voice. He slowly took  
another drag on his cigarette.  
  
"But won't that encourage--"  
  
"I did not ask you to think. Send the message; proceed with the plans."  
Another slow drag and he turned in his chair so that he could  
extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray on the table. For the first  
time in the conversation, he met the doctor's eyes. "Don't worry about  
Mulder, he's my concern."  
  
* * * * * * 


	2. 2

February 20, 1999  
Northern Virginia  
12:50am  
  
* * * * * *  
MULDER: It's amazing how things change, isn't it?  
SCULLY: The caterpillar?  
MULDER: No, a change for us. It's coming.  
SCULLY: How do you know?  
MULDER: A hunch.  
--"Tooms"  
* * * * * *  
  
"Scully, do you believe in fate?" Mulder's unexpected voice pulled  
Scully away from the blessed limbo of half-sleep. The place where one's  
mind begins to detach from one's body, and where the mind slows it's  
frenetic pace and sustains a blessed balance of no thoughts, conscious,  
or unconscious. She liked this place, she didn't have to think , to  
contemplate, to debate......most importantly, she didn't have to think  
about why she was still in this damn car with Mulder.  
  
She glanced at him. She could barely make out his features in the faint  
light that emanated from the clock on the dashboard, but she could  
clearly read him. The hooded eyes, the knitted eyebrows, the way his  
damn lower lip jutted just so...yes , Mulder was feeling melancholy  
tonight, and he was drowning her in his sorrow. She didn't feel like  
talking, debating; she would be perfectly content to sit in silence the  
whole night.  
  
Unfortunately, Mulder couldn't allow that. He repeated the question.  
"Scully, did you hear me? What do you think about the concept of fate?"  
  
Reluctantly, she responded. "What do you mean, fate?"  
  
"Fate. You know, life events are preordained, happen for a purpose, the  
people you meet, you met for a reason. You know, fate."  
  
She paused for a moment, debating how much effort she should put into  
her answer. "Well, I'm not sure. The idea that the things we do are  
somehow planned or preordained...it's not exactly appealing to me. I  
mean, what would be the point of it all? If things have already been  
mapped, then is there such a thing as choice?"  
  
Scully sighed heavily. "But then again, it is kind of reassuring to  
think that perhaps there is a certain meaning, an overall plan to life.  
That one's actions have some significance in the grand scheme of  
things."  
  
She stopped. Mulder waited expectantly, but she was finished. He looked  
at her for a second, disappointed. "That isn't much of an answer."  
  
She just shrugged her shoulders. "That is the only answer I have to  
give." She turned away from him once more.  
  
Several moments passed before Mulder spoke again. "Choice is very  
important to you isn't it? The ability to make your life as you see  
fit."  
  
Seeing that this conversation will not die with her simply turning her  
back to him, she decided to let it play out. "Well, I think that anyone  
would agree that that was important to them. The idea, the very concept  
of having one's free agency taken away or limited is...well it's almost  
an aberration against human nature. Because with out choice, what are  
we, puppets?"  
  
Mulder nodded, understanding. "Scully have..." He paused here, thinking  
about his next comment and carefully looking over her disposition, he  
amended himself. "...are there things that you regret? Choices that you  
wish you had had, or you could do over?"  
  
Scully momentarily flashed back to a night years ago, when a man, who  
unfortunately had not been Mulder, had asked her a very similar  
question. She forgot for a moment his betrayal, and asked with genuine  
concern. "Is something bothering you? What is this really about?" She  
waited for him to continue. She knew that he would. Several minutes  
passed, and she watched him nervously fiddle with the steering wheel,  
picking at the seams and tracing the outlines of the controls, all the  
while steadying refusing to meet her eyes.  
  
"I was just thinking about choices made. By me, by you. Choices made for  
us."  
  
She asked the question again. "What is this really about?"  
  
"I was wondering about things. About where we would be if different  
choices had been made." He finally lifted his head and met her eyes with  
his.  
  
"We?" She did her best to keep her voice neutral.  
  
"Sometimes I think...I think that I've made wrong choices, that things  
would be so much better for..." He paused. "...for everyone if things  
had been different. But then, other times, it feels like I'm not even  
the one making these choices to begin with, like my life is being run by  
something else."  
  
"What brought this on Mulder?"  
  
"Nothing. I'm sorry that I even brought it up." He said, dismissing her.  
Scully could see that he wasn't done yet, but she didn't feel like  
dragging it out of him. If he want to tell her, he would, if  
not... well... she didn't really care all that much right at that  
moment. She just wanted to get the hell out of there. "Fine." The word  
came out harsher than she planned.  
  
They settled into a suffocating silence. Scully rolled her window down,  
folded her arms on the sill, and rested her head on her crossed arms.  
She breathed in the fresh air. The evening was more raw than cold, but  
she relished the feeling. She herself was raw. A breeze came up, and  
lightly ruffled her hair.  
  
More than anything, she wanted to get out of this damn car. Three hours  
waiting, plus the two driving in this stifling car. Why she had agreed  
to come on this charade of a lead was beyond her. The source had  
contacted Mulder with some new and exciting information on... what was  
it this time? Oh, this time they didn't even have an idea. Just a  
cryptic message left on his voicemail. 'If you want to experience  
something that will change everything...' and this location.  
  
She looked at the desolate road outside her window. When was the last  
time a car had even passed? She couldn't remember. She moved her head  
and tried to look up into the night sky. The dense forest that  
surrounded the road enveloped them with their dark canopy. She could  
only see a thin segment of the sky, where the branches on each side of  
the road didn't quite meet. She looked at the few stars that she could  
see the light against the darkness, the points of gold brightness  
against the amorphous night sky. This did not ease her feelings of  
claustrophobia and isolation. Just her and Mulder, in the middle of god  
knows where, waiting for god knows who, which, considering how long they  
have waited, was not going to show up.  
  
She glanced at her watch. 12:52. She had had enough of this. This was a  
horrid idea to begin with. It was too soon. It was only a week ago that  
he had ridiculed her, tore her down, and invalidated much of their work  
together. In front of the Gunmen no less.  
  
They'd called her.  
  
She was about to leave her apartment this evening when the phone rang.  
Thinking that it might be Mulder, she'd picked it up instead of letting  
the machine get it. It had been them with an update. She had asked the  
Gunman to continue to monitor Diana's accounts, even though she was  
presumed dead. Scully didn't trust that presumption.  
  
She knew that Mulder thought Diana was dead. Mulder had said that he  
had sent her to the site, and she hadn't been seen since that evening,  
but Scully still had her doubts. The DNA results had not proven  
conclusive that she was one of the victims. It was still early of  
course, and more tests needed to be done to determine anything  
definitively, but she just didn't believe that Diana was one of the  
victims. Scully couldn't see Diana letting herself get trapped like  
that.  
  
The call had been a short one. How long did it take to say there was no  
information? But before they hung up Byres had paused.'Scully... um...  
well, we just wanted you to know that... we believe you, even if... even  
if--' She interjected wearily. 'Even if Mulder doesn't.' Langly had  
then broken in with, 'Yeah, he can be a real asshole sometimes.' Byres  
continued as if Langly hadn't interrupted. 'We just wanted you to know  
that we don't think of you as just Mulder's partner, we think of you...  
well, you are one of our friends. We just wanted you to know that.' She  
had let several seconds pass before she had found the words to speak,  
forcing strength into her hollow tone. 'Thanks for the information.' And  
she had hung up, her empty words still in her head.  
  
Looking back, she realized that phone call had begun the night's, as  
well as her mood's, decent. She did not need the Gunman's sympathy.  
'Poor Scully, she has to work with that insensitive asshole. How can she  
stand it?' She didn't need the Gunman avoiding eye contact when with  
her, she didn't need them speaking in hushed tones, acting like she had  
lost her best friend.  
  
Even though it felt like that sometimes...  
  
That nagging thought was already beginning to gnaw at her, and she did  
not particularly appreciate it. She wanted to dismiss it out of hand.  
Lifting her head up, she shoved it away. Time to go. Enough of this. She  
needed to get out of here, needed to get away from him so she could  
breathe. She turned to look at Mulder. Her mouth had just begun to open  
when she saw his face. She had worked with him long enough, in enough  
different situations, to be able to recognized his various 'faces.' And  
this one... of course it was the one she hated the most."Welcome to  
the pity party Mulder. So nice to see you, join the others." She  
thought sarcastically.  
  
He had that face that screamed self-pity and guilt, and not just the  
common variety guilt. No, this was a Mulder special. This was the  
'Scully's life is royally fucked up, and it is all my fault.' "Damn  
it! Why must he do this now? I don't need this. If he says  
anything..." Well, she knew what she would do. She would rip his head  
off.  
  
He turned to face her. He was going to speak. She knew this. She knew  
that she wouldn't be so lucky that he could actually keep his mouth  
shut. Scully closed her eyes and braced herself for the sadly inevitable  
self-flagellation.  
  
And then the proverbial ax fell. For him or for her, she couldn't quite  
tell. "Scully, why are you in the car with me? Why are you sitting here  
at one in the morning in this damn car with me?"  
  
She frowned as the meaning of his words sank in, soaked in the memory of  
a quiet conversation in the Nevada desert. She didn't open her eyes.  
Choosing her words very carefully, she spoke. "Don't do this. I don't  
need this now. And you most certainly do not want me questioning my  
reasons for being with you."  
  
He turned to her, trying to meet her eyes. "What are you talking about?"  
She doggedly kept her eyes closed.  
  
"I don't feel much like discussing this now." She said these words  
shortly, clipped.  
  
"I still don't quite understand what you are talking about here Scully."  
But his words betrayed him. Comprehension was beginning to seep into his  
voice.  
  
She opened her eyes. "But you do. We have traveled this path before, and  
I just don't have the energy to placate you now."  
  
"Placate me? What the hell does that mean? If you have something to say  
to me, say it already." Now his voice began to take on a decidedly sharp  
edge.  
  
Her voice began to take on the same edge as well. "You know very well  
what I'm talking about. Six years Mulder...six years Mulder, and I've  
grown tired of this game."  
  
"What--"  
  
She interrupted him. "I said stop." Her words were coarsely spoken and  
Mulder could almost feel her frustration radiate of off her. She did not  
stop her tirade. "You know what. The 'Scully's-life-is-majorly-screwed-up,  
-and-it-is-all-my-fault-Poor-me.'That *thing* you do." She spoke these   
words heavy with scorn. "And then it is my turn to fall into the role of   
comforter and assuage your guilt. Am I right?" She was only inflaming the  
situation, but she suddenly didn't care.  
  
She spoke once more. "Wait, no, I have changed my mind. I think that you  
do need to hear this one more time. And this will be the last time, so  
make sure that you file this carefully in that eidetic memory of yours.  
That way next time you feel like taking this guilt trip of your, you can  
leave me behind."  
  
Mulder wasn't looking at her any more. He simply sat, jaw tightly  
clenching, guilt morphing into anger. But he didn't stop her from  
speaking.  
  
"How do you see me Mulder? I'm curious. Because you would have to see me  
in a certain way in order for you to take on this guilt. Do you see me  
as a nave, easily manipulated person? Someone who would do something  
out of simple obligation or duty, damn the consequences? Of course  
you'll say no, that's not my Scully. But that is how I feel when you do  
this."  
  
She paused momentarily and looked at him. "Are you following?"  
  
"Perfectly." He whispered, his voice harsh.  
  
"It's like...it's like you invalidate my reasons for doing this. I'm not  
here because it is my job, or because I feel an obligation to you." She  
paused and looked to him. She studied him for a moment. Her voice was  
softer now. "It isn't always about you Mulder. I've said this before,  
and it was just as true then as it is now." She paused once more. "Has  
it ever occurred to you that I could have my own reasons for staying  
that don't necessarily have to do with you? That it is just as important  
to me to find these truths, that we find these answers. If you don't  
think that I'm here for these reasons, I'm curious to know what you  
think my reasons are."  
  
"Scully, I...this isn't how I wanted..."  
  
"I'm sorry Mulder. I'm sorry about this, and I'm sorry that you can't  
seem to understand. I am here, with you, because I chose to be. I take  
responsibility for my actions, and whatever comes from them. I don't  
need you to do that for me. I don't want you to do that."  
  
Scully fixed his eyes with her own, choosing her next words carefully  
and trying to temper them with gentleness. "Mulder, when they took  
me..." His eyes squeezed tight at the memory. "...when they took me it  
became more than finding the truth, it became about finding the  
answers." Her voice regained its edginess as she spoke her next words.  
"It became personal. Imagine that. Personal for me, much like it is  
personal for you. You have what was done to Samantha, I have what was  
done to me. And once you understand this we can move on."  
  
She abruptly opened the door to the car and stepped out. Leaning against  
the roof of the vehicle, as well as the doorframe, she put her head back  
into the car, and spoke again. "Mulder, I made the choices, they were  
mine to make, and I accept responsibility for where ever those choices  
take me. That, Mulder, that's why I'm in the car with you." Her last  
comment was punctuated with the slamming of the car door in his face.  
  
* * * * *  
He sat there, alone, staring at the emptiness, feeling as if all the  
energy in the car had left with her.  
  
That... that could have gone better.  
  
"No shit Sherlock." His inner voice mocked him.  
  
He wearily rested his head on the rim of the steering wheel. How had  
that happened? He hadn't meant for the conversation to take such a  
dramatic turn. He hadn't meant for the night to end with Scully  
defending her role in his life. He hadn't meant... well there are a lot  
of things that he hadn't meant to happen; yet they did.  
  
Sometimes it seemed as if it didn't matter what he did anymore...  
  
That was what he had been thinking about when he had begun the  
conversation. He should have known that Scully wasn't in the mood, hell  
her body language alone had screamed that she wanted to be anywhere else  
than with him. He should have known that the wisest thing for him to do  
would have involved taping his mouth shut, yet the words had tumbled out  
nothingness. He wasn't surprised by her reaction, he deserved it.  
  
He wanted to feel angry with her, he wanted to... he wanted to...hell,  
he didn't know.  
  
He opened the car door and followed her out into the crisp night. She  
stood about 50 paces away from the car with her back to him, arms  
wrapped tightly around her to ward off the cold. They stood silent for  
an awkward moment, while he tried to decide what to say. "Scully..." he  
said quietly, breaking the silent stalemate. His voice trailed off, he  
didn't know what else to say. He began to approach her. "It's freezing  
out here."  
  
"I've been colder." The chill of the night air was nothing compared to  
the chill in her voice.  
  
Mulder saw the gulf between them yawning wider. He saw no way to span  
it. He tried to find the words, and nothing better than the obvious  
occurred to him. "Scully, I'm sorry... I..."  
  
She sighed heavily, and with the expelled air went the last of her  
anger. Now she was just incredibly tired. "I'm not looking for an  
apology here Mulder. You don't have to do this." She said, voice dull  
and tired.  
  
Mulder reached forward and touched her shoulder, and gently turned her  
around. She let him. "I'm not... this isn't out of some obligation...  
this--"  
  
But his own comment was broken off by the look in her eyes. Her eyes  
wide, she looked up just over his left shoulder. There was a shocked  
realization in her eyes. Mulder rapidly flipped around and saw a bright  
light moving above, nearly on top of them. He turned back to Scully and  
without thinking grabbed her hand and pulled her off the road and into  
the forest. "Come on Scully!"  
  
They didn't get far.  
  
Mulder had just turned to glance back at the hovering object when there  
was a sudden flash of light  
  
It was as if his entire universe had instantly telescoped down to those  
few seconds. Time slowed. He saw the flash of fear sweep over her  
features... her lips beginning to form his name...  
  
But time was like a rubber band. Just as quickly as it had stretched out  
to eternity, it snapped back.  
  
And then she was gone.  
  
* * * * * * 


	3. 3

February 23, 1999  
A.D. Skinner's Office  
9:15am  
  
* * * * * *  
It was one of those great stories that you can't put down at night  
The hero knew what he had to do, and he wasn't afraid to fight  
The villain goes to jail, while the hero goes free  
I wish it were that simple for me  
--David Crosby & Phil Collins, "Hero"  
* * * * * *  
  
Skinner slammed shut the file before him in frustration. No information.  
No leads, no clues as to Agent Scully's whereabouts. Unfortunately he  
was not the least bit surprised. He knew these men. Knew their methods  
and he was all too aware of the methods they used to obscure the truth.  
  
He took his wire frames off his face and with one hand began to rub the  
bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to stave off his headache.  
Putting his glasses back on, he looked at his watch. 9:15. Mulder was  
late. Skinner was not looking forward to this particular meeting.  
  
Skinner didn't know what to expect when he saw him this morning. His  
mind flashed back to four years ago. Back to Duane Barry, the last time  
she had been taken. The Mulder of that time had been a frightening mix  
of desperation and rage. He had been unstoppable, undeterred in his  
goal. And after they had found Duane Barry, but no sign of Scully...  
Mulder had still been desperate, but his rage had faded into a  
consuming guilt. A guilt, Skinner suspected, lingered still.  
  
Skinner could still remember that conversation right here in his office,  
the conversation that had summed up Mulder's guilt so well.  
  
"'Agent Scully was a fine officer. More than that, I liked her. I  
respected her. We all know the field we play on and we all know what can  
happen in the course of a game. If you were unprepared for all the  
potentials, then you shouldn't step on the field.'  
  
'What if I... I knew the potential consequences but I... I never told  
her?'  
  
'Then you're as much to blame for her condition as... 'The Cancer Man.'"  
  
As Skinner had said those words he had seen the guilt and anguish wash  
over Mulder. He had hated having to say those words and watch Mulder  
internally crumble, but Mulder had needed to hear them.  
  
His secretary softly knocked on his door. "Sir, Agent Mulder has  
arrived."  
  
"Send him in."  
  
Skinner had not been sure as to what to expect from Mulder this morning,  
but what he saw was still unexpected. The man before him was composed,  
controlled, calm even. Impeccably dressed, looking like the model agent,  
the only thing that hinted at his hidden anguish was his slightly  
red-rimed eyes. Skinner chose to ignore that hint.  
  
Skinner motioned to the chair before him. Mulder sat down and spoke.  
"Sorry to keep you waiting sir. I was held up." He offered no other  
explanation.  
  
"Well, you're here now. I suspect you know why I have called for this  
meeting today. This concerns the case of Agent Scully's disappearance."  
Skinner paused. He tried to come up with a diplomatic way to say his  
next comment. "Agent Mulder, I think that it would be best if-"  
  
Mulder interrupted him before he could finish. "I agree sir. This  
investigation would go much..." he paused to find the right word,  
"...smoother if I was not involved." He spoke calmly. If it had been  
another time, another situation he could have smiled at the A.D.'s  
expression. Before he could speak again, Mulder continued. "I also think  
that now would be a good time to use up some of my vacation time."  
  
Skinner and he stared for several moments. Skinner broke the silence. "I  
understand. I am glad that we see eye to eye on this situation. I will  
personally head this investigation while you-"A pause. "While you take  
time to do what ever you need to do. We will keep each other appraised  
of our progress."  
  
Mulder stood. "Of course. Thank you sir." He turned to leave. His hand  
was on the doorknob before Skinner stopped him. "We will find her Agent  
Mulder."  
  
Mulder didn't turn around. His voice breaking ever so slightly he  
replied. "I want to believe that, sir."  
  
* * * * * *  
February 28, 1999  
The Lone Gunmen headquarters  
7:03pm  
  
Mulder furiously paced the floor, what little floor there was in the  
cramped quarters. The gunmen were wise enough to stay out of his way. He  
had arrived thirty minutes prior, and at each bit of information, or in  
this case, lack of information the gunman provided, he became more  
frenetic. "Nothing? You guys haven't found anything? What about the  
train cars? I thought that you guys said that you had figured out a way  
to monitor them."  
  
Byers spoke, "We have Mulder, and there has been no activity at all.  
Nothing. All of the known cars are stored in an abandoned rail yard.  
There hasn't been any activity since they found Cassandra."  
  
Byres noted Mulder's increasing agitation. "Mulder, what have you  
found?" He asked, trying vainly to distract Mulder, to try to bring him  
back down.  
  
"Nothing!" He practically yelled, his arms flailing forward with  
frustration. He repeated it again, this time softer. "Nothing. I haven't  
found anything. There was no records of any aircraft, or any  
unidentified objects over Northern Virginia on that night."Mulder  
paused. "Unless..." He looked at the Gunmen hopefully.  
  
Byres just shook his head with regret. "We haven't found anything  
either."  
  
The room was silent for several moments. Frohike was the one to break  
the silence. "Mulder, what about the other things? What about the source  
that contacted you? Were you able to back trace it at all?"  
  
He paused, then ran his hand through his hair, which was already a spiky  
mess. "Yes, although it didn't do much good. Pay phone, heavy use. By  
the time we found it, any trace evidence was obliterated by the hundreds  
of others that followed. Like I said, nothing."  
  
"What about hospitals? I know that we are watching as well, but have you  
heard...?" Langly asked.  
  
Mulder shook his head, looking down at his feet and answering in a low  
saddened tone. "No."  
  
Almost afraid to ask, Byers spoke, trying to keep his voice smooth and  
calming. "And morgues?"  
  
"Nothing." This was said with great relief."That is the only good news I  
have..." Mulder had finally stopped pacing and sat heavily on the  
couch, burying his face in his hands.  
  
"Mulder, nothing just disappears without a trace. We will find her."  
Langly spoke, his words meant to be helpful, but only seemed to bring  
Mulder more anguish. "Nothing disappears without a trace?" Voices in  
his head taunted at him. "Why Mulder, you know better than that..."  
Mulder did his best to ignore them, but was not quite successful.  
  
The gunmen looked at each other, uncertain as to their next move. After  
several silent moments, Frohike got off his chair and sat next to  
Mulder. Somewhat awkwardly he placed his hand on Mulder's shoulder.  
"Look Mulder, we all care for Agent Scully. She's out there, and we're  
not going to stop until we find her. And we will find her." But even as  
he spoke, the uncertainty in his voice was apparent.  
  
Mulder looked up and was almost able to force a smile on his face. "Look  
guys, I appreciate all the help that you've given me, really. Keep  
looking. We'll find something eventually." He stood up. "I have to go.  
You guys know how to reach me." With that he pulled on his coat and was  
out the door.  
  
The gunmen looked at each other for a few seconds, and without saying a  
word, went back to their respective projects.  
  
* * * * * *  
March 2, 1999  
Mulder's Apartment  
12:21am  
  
Mulder sat on his couch, lost. His cool detached faade had quickly  
faded since his visit with Skinner. He had tried to be his calm,  
collected, professional best; he had pulled from him the side that  
referred to as 'Scully's piece of me.' The calm, rational side that had  
slowly infiltrated his being over the past six years. He couldn't permit  
himself to let his emotions overwhelm him. He needed her strength, he  
needed her...  
  
But she wasn't here. It was just him, and his calm mask was rapidly  
deteriorating. This past week had been difficult. He had left Skinner's  
office with several leads, and he had been ready to begin his own  
private investigation. He had also left that meeting with hope. Hope  
that she could be found. But all to quickly those leads became dead ends  
and his hopes began to seem like nothing more than wishful thinking.  
"It isn't just wishful thinking. Scully is still alive. She will come  
back. She has to."  
  
He was trying desperately to keep his mind busy, occupied. Every time he  
didn't, he would begin again, "Not again, not again, not again."  
  
He was doing it again. He got up from the couch. "Got to keep busy. No  
time to think. Just act." He briefly considered calling Skinner, even  
at this late hour, to ask how the official investigation was  
progressing, but immediately dismissed the idea. No, he had just spoken  
with Skinner the previous day. They had informed each other of their  
rather dismal progress. After his own lack of success, Mulder had pinned  
much of his remaining hope on the information his A.D. could provide.  
Mulder had hoped that with his noticeable absence from the FBI team,  
they would be able to make better progress. If someone was watching,  
paying attention to Mulder's activities, then maybe...  
  
Mulder interrupted his thoughts. "'If?' Had he really thought 'if'?"  
A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. "If someone was watching?" When  
had he started doubting that he was being watched?  
  
But the thought only distracted him for a moment, and then he was back  
to Scully. Skinner couldn't help, Gunmen were already on it...There was  
no one else. He was the only one left who could do something. And what  
was he doing? He was wasting time, sitting on his ass. He should be  
doing something. He should be rescuing Scully. Saving her from what ever  
they are doing to her.  
  
He shuddered, images rose unbidden from his mind. They weren't actual  
moments that he had witnessed, no, these were the images created by him,  
and that tormented him each time he closed his eyes. Scully, powerless,  
lying prone on the top on the table. Sometimes there were men, terrible  
men, surrounding her, cutting her, inserting instruments into her body,  
violating her in the worse ways. Sometimes there were no men. Sometimes  
it was just she, in the center of a large, empty room. She was on the  
table, always on the table... machines encircled her, breathing for her,  
regulating her heart rate, monitoring all of her bodily systems... she  
was totally cut off, isolated from any other living thing. Cut off from  
him. These where the images that haunted his dreams and he struggled to  
keep his waking world free from them. "Don't go there, Mulder. Don't  
think about that. Think about getting her back."  
  
The idea spurred him into sudden action and he was nearly out the door  
before he realized that there was nothing that he could do. It was just  
a matter of waiting. And just waiting was what he did worst. He sighed.  
He carefully hung up his jacket and sat down again. Grabbing his wallet  
from his pocket, he opened it and carefully withdrew a lightly worn  
photograph from the folded leather. He held the picture delicately in  
his hand, as if it was a dried leaf, and the slightest pressure would  
cause it to disintegrate between his fingertips.  
  
The picture was of Scully, a Scully that he had never really known. She  
was young in this picture, he guessed early twenties; she had a wide  
grin, the tail end of true laughter. Scully laughing...now there was a  
sight to behold. Mulder smiled again as his finger gently traced her  
laughing outline. And yes, it was true, that laughter; he could see it  
in the way her eyes gleamed.  
  
But then her crystal eyes seemed to change before him. They took on a  
hard, almost accusing nature and penetrated him to his core. "I  
haven't laughed like this since I met you.", they seemed to taunt.  
Hurriedly he closed his eyes to this image, trying to banish that  
thought from his head. Scully didn't think that, he knew that now, and  
if she knew he was even thinking like this...He almost smiled at the  
memory of the recent tongue-lashing he had experienced, and now knew  
that he had deserved it. She hated his self-pity.  
  
They had needed it, needed to get it out into the open like that, and  
maybe...and maybe things would have been different. Things were  
beginning to come out, and he had almost been relived when she had  
lashed out at him. At least she had told him how she felt; it was a far  
cry from her usual stoic 'I'm fine.' Those two words always made his  
cringe.  
  
Yes it had been a break-through of a sort. "If..." he mentally  
paused. "...if she hadn't been taken..." What? Everything would be  
perfect? No, he knew better than that, but things would be better.  
  
And if he saw her again... no, 'when' he saw her again...He corrected  
himself. When he saw her again, he would fix things between them, try  
harder. When he saw her again...  
  
When he saw her again...  
  
Unbidden, his mind began to flood with the unwelcome memories of her  
disappearance. The blinding light...the face he had seen her make the  
brief moment before she vanished before his eyes. She had looked up into  
the light, and he had seen the recognition in her face. It had been just  
like last time...the last time she had been taken from him.  
  
Again, he repeated the words, out loud this time, "When I see her  
again...",in an attempt to stave off the inevitable, but he was  
unsuccessful. Unable to avoid it any longer, he surrendered to the guilt  
and grief and let it sweep him away. He fell into a fitful sleep a few  
hours later, with those words still on his lips and the picture dropped  
unceremoniously to the floor.  
  
* * * * * *  
Department of Defense  
8:08am  
  
Diana stared through the observation window into the room where the  
subject was laying supine on an examination table. The patient was  
shrouded in sterile drapes that covered her nearly head to toe. Her red  
hair was bundled up within a cap, but her pale face was in clear view.  
Between her anemic lips was an intubation tube, connected to the  
ventilator. Diana watched with dispassion at the machine, as breaths per  
minute and oxygen saturation were displayed on the readout.  
  
She sensed the man behind her before she heard him. The smell of smoke  
that always clung to him like an ill-fitting cloak wafted over to her.  
Her nose wrinkled distastefully for a moment before she resumed her  
impassive mask of a face. Diana spoke to him with out turning. "How is  
she doing?"  
  
He took several more steps until he was next to her. He placed a  
cigarette between his thin lips. With a flick of his wrist he lit his  
lighter and cupped the flame with his hands and leaned into the burning  
light. Smoke began to curl from the end of the cigarette. With out  
looking at Diana, he answered her question. "All is going as planned."  
  
He glanced at her, forming a marginal smile. "Bringing back any  
memories?"  
  
Her eyes closed briefly. It took only a moment for her to recover from  
his pointed question. She had enough practice over the years. She spoke  
again, ignoring his previous question. "How much longer will the  
procedure take?" Her voice was flat, distant.  
  
He shrugged, noncommittally. "We aren't really sure. It could be hours  
or days."  
  
"And then what?"  
  
"And then the testing begins. We need to determine how effective the  
treatment is before we can proceed." He paused for a moment, then  
continued. "How is he?" He did not need to explain who 'he' was. 'He'  
was a given.  
  
She sighed, suddenly weary. "Acting as we predicted. He's not made any  
significant progress in discovering the truth."  
  
He nodded, pleased with this news. "Then it is time that you let your  
presence be known."  
  
"What do I tell him when he finds me? He believes that I'm dead."  
  
He brought the cancer stick from his mouth. Exhaling the smoke, he  
smiled. "Tell him what he needs to know."  
  
* * * * * * 


	4. 4

  
March 4, 1999  
Mulder's Apartment  
8:57 am  
  
* * * * * *  
Well you got your reasons,  
And you got your lies,  
And you got your manipulations,  
They cut me down to size.  
--Tonic, "If You Could Only See"  
* * * * * *  
  
The shrill ring of the cell phone broke Mulder free from his latest  
series of nightmares. He sat up, head spinning and blindly reached for  
his phone. Half of him hoped that he would hear the familiar, "Mulder,  
it's me." the other half knew just how unlikely that would be.  
  
"Mulder."  
  
"We found something." It was Langly.  
  
"Did you find her? What did you discover?" Mulder asked impatiently in a  
voice wanting and not quite daring to hope.  
  
"No, but we found someone that may know where she is. I can't say  
anything else now. Just come over."  
  
Mulder was already out the door before Langly had finished the last  
sentence.  
  
* * * * * *  
The Lone Gunmen Head Quarters  
9:28am  
  
"What? She's still alive?" Mulder face was blank, but the shock was  
obvious in his eyes. This was the last thing that he expected to hear  
when he came over. This was the last name he expected.  
  
"Yes, Diana Fowley is alive and well as far as we can tell. After..."  
Byers paused to clear his throat. "After we found out the information on  
her before, and after you...um... well after Scully told you about the  
information..." Byers was looking even more uncomfortable, if possible.  
  
Mulder spoke, "After I said that I didn't believe her..."he sighed.  
  
"Um, yeah. After that, Scully asked us to continue to keep tabs on her.  
We also thought that she had been killed with the others; there had been  
no activity, that is until yesterday. We knew that someone was using her  
accounts, but we couldn't be sure it was her until this morning." Langly  
handed him a grainy photo, and resumed from where Byers had left off.  
"We were able to pull this picture off a security camera in the lobby of  
the Cabal Hotel, in New York City. She arrived today. We have no way of  
knowing how long she'll stay. This may be your only chance."  
  
* * * * * *  
March 5, 1999  
Cabal Hotel, room 2133  
1:35am  
  
Mulder sat. Shrouded in darkness, he sat and waited. The room was not  
unlike the hundreds of hotel rooms the he had frequented over the years,  
a small, four walled cube of a room, smelling of antiseptic, and devoid  
of a personal touch. Diana hadn't been there when he arrived, and for  
the second time in as many weeks, he had let himself in. But unlike the  
previous time, he found something.  
  
Why hadn't he learned a lesson from Pandora and kept the box closed? He  
was beginning to wish he had just waited for her in the lobby. He didn't  
want to know what he now knew. "I never wanted to believe it could be  
true."  
  
His eyes painfully scanned the paper again. The words seemed to leap out  
and literally take hold of his heart, squeezing, and twisting within his  
chest until it was almost to the breaking point. "The subject..." always  
'the subject' He scanned the paper. They only referred to her using her  
name twice. All of the other times it was simply 'the subject.' The  
words removed, dispassionate, no hint at the person behind them.  
  
The word began to run up and over and around on the page as a wave of  
nausea washed over him. He closed his eyes, looking away for the first  
time since he had recovered the report. It was no use. His curse of  
memory prevented him from forgetting, even for a moment. The words and  
sentences continued to swim behind his eyelids. "...the most likely  
candidate for conversion.","...subject out performs any of the other  
participants.", "...intensive tests conducted four years ago..."  
  
And those were her words. Mulder studied the name at the bottom of the  
sheet. Diana Fowley. Right there, in black and white, was her name.  
Attached to a report outlining the tests that had been done on Scully  
four years ago, the surveillance used to monitor her, and he realized  
belatedly, him, and the plans for what was to come...  
  
It was all coming together. Diana's studies of the MUFON members...Her  
reactions relating to Cassandra. He felt like the fool he was.  
  
He had not wanted to believe. It was as simple as that. For the first  
time in his life he had wanted to not believe, even with the evidence  
presented to him. And what had it cost him?  
  
The jiggle of the door handle interrupted his thoughts. The door swung  
open and Diana strolled in, takeout in her hand. She set the food on the  
table near the door and casually tossed her coat on the bed without  
really looking. She was heading to the bathroom when she noticed out  
of the corner of her eye that her briefcase had been opened and the  
contents were now scattered haphazardly at the foot of the bed. She  
slowly moved her eyes from the bed and looked directly to Mulder's hard  
gaze. He noted that she did not seem surprised at his sudden appearance  
in her room.  
  
His gaze was intense and unwavering, and she met it directly for an  
eerily long time, wondering what he might be thinking. Mulder broke the  
silence that had engulfed the room. "Thanks for the note."  
  
"What note?" She asked. She seemed genuinely confused.  
  
"Oh, that little note that said 'Hey Mulder, just a little note to let  
you know that I'm alive. You didn't send me to my death.'" He rose to  
his feet, and for the first time Diana could see his face in the light.  
She immediately wished that he would go back to his corner.  
  
"I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry for that. But I had my reasons."  
  
He held up the report in his hand and looked accusingly at her. With  
sarcasm heavy on his voice, he spoke again. "Ah, yes, your 'reasons'. I  
read all about them. It seems that your work was not yet done, was it?"  
  
She closed her eyes briefly, as guilt flitted across her face.  
"Fox...it...it wasn't like that...I only barely managed to escape  
myself...and..." She trailed off, unsure how to explain herself, and  
beginning to doubt that she ever could.  
  
"And what?"  
  
"And..." She shrugged her shoulder's helplessly. "And I don't know." She  
motioned to the report he held tightly in his hand. "You've read it."  
  
"Yes, I have. It has been very enlightening to say the least. How long  
Diana? How long have you worked for *them*? Since the beginning?"  
  
"Since the beginning." She repeated, voice heavy.  
  
He had expected some sort of evasion; this brought him up short. He  
quickly recovered. "And the X-files?" It was a question, but he already  
knew her answer.  
  
"You did not find them by accident." She admitted.  
  
Mulder sat back down in the chair. Diana cautiously sat on the edge of  
the bed, body tense, and stared intently at Mulder. She didn't speak,  
instead, she waited for him to absorb her news. Finally, he spoke again,  
the pain and anguish easily read in his eyes. "And my memories? My  
memories of my sister? You were there, you encouraged me..." He stopped  
as the implications sunk in.  
  
"Your memories are true. They were not manipulated nor given to you. I  
was only there to make sure that they were recovered."  
  
He sighed, and for a moment was relived by this news. But then a  
realization struck. "You know that I can't believe anything you say."  
  
It was her turn to sigh. "I know that. I don't expect you to."  
  
"Why her? Why Scully? And why now?"  
  
Diana motioned to the papers in his hand and those scattered next to her  
on the bed. "You read why. You know why she was picked."  
  
"Why *you* picked her." He stressed pointedly. "I have a feeling that  
there is something more than what I'm reading."  
  
Her voice was flat, stilted. "You think that this was somehow  
personal..."  
  
"I'm beginning to wonder." His words were deceptively casual.  
  
"It wasn't like that. It was never was." She sighed. "Scully is our best  
hope, our only hope." She paused and met Mulder's hard gaze. "Fox, they  
found out about Cassandra. They found out that we have the technology,  
and they are expecting us to produce results."  
  
He seeming candor was still startling to him. "The aliens?"  
  
She nodded. "Yes. And they are expecting us to deliver on our end of the  
bargain. If we don't..."  
  
"If we don't...then what happens?"  
  
She ignored his question. Instead, she moved off the bed and half knelt  
before him. She took his hand in hers and carefully unfurled the fist  
that was grasping the report and smoothed the crumpled papers, and set  
the papers to the side. She rested one hand on his, gingerly, and took a  
good, long look at the floor before looking up, trying to look into his  
eyes. Mulder turned his head slightly, refusing, but he didn't take his  
hands away.  
  
When she spoke, her voice was soft, reassuring. "Fox, we need her. She's  
the only way, the only chance we have. The only way that any of us can  
survive. She will save us both."  
  
"At what cost? Her humanity?" He spat out. He forcefully pulled his  
hands from hers, and stood up. Diana was just barely able to get out of  
his way.  
  
"How can you be a part of this? How can you let them do these things to  
innocent people? I thought I knew you. " His voice abruptly dropped from  
a shout, to a mere whisper. "I guess I didn't know you at all..."  
  
Diana walked to Mulder and placed her hand to his arm. "Fox--" She  
began. He violently shrugged her off. "Don't." His voice raised once.  
"Don't ever touch me again."  
  
His back was to her, when he spoke again. "Can you help me? Will you  
help me?"  
  
"Fox...I can't...If I thought that there was any other way..." Her voice  
trailed off.  
  
Mulder turned and studied her face for a moment. "That is what you  
honestly believe." He dropped his head with this realization. "That  
means you won't help me then." He looked back up to her. "Is this how  
I'm nullified? All those that I mistakenly believed were on my side  
betray me? And I'm left with no one?"  
  
His words had an unbelievable sting to them. She visibly grimaced.  
Mulder did not see her reaction. "I can't help you, even if I could it  
is already too late. Plans have been set in motion that I am unable to  
halt. But--" She broke off.  
  
"But what?" Mulder asked bitterly.  
  
On impulse, she decided to continue. If she could save him from her  
fate..."But, you need to know something. This meeting...you finding me  
was no accident. You discovering the reports...this was not mere  
happenstance. This was all a part of a well coordinated plan."  
  
"And you telling me is a part of this plan?" He asked sharply.  
  
"No, it isn't. I'm telling you this...I'm telling you this because I  
don't want what happened to me to happen to you. The smoking man will  
approach you in a day or two, with an offer...don't accept it; don't  
believe him."  
  
"I would never--"  
  
She interrupted. "He will promise you things...he will offer all that  
you have ever wanted. But don't trust his words. You can't trust him."  
  
"Why are you telling me this? Of all things?"  
  
"We all face choices in our lives. I regret mine; I don't want you to  
make the same mistakes I did."  
  
"What mistakes were those?"  
  
She just shook her head. "I can't tell you anything else. Just remember,  
don't trust what he has to say."  
  
Mulder scoffed. "And I should trust you?"  
  
"Fox...I'm sorry, I can't give you anything else..."  
  
Mulder walked over to the papers and began to gather them up to take  
with him. "Since I was meant to see them anyway..." But he paused in his  
efforts. "Are these even real? If I was meant to see them--" He stopped  
himself and looked expectantly at Diana.  
  
She answered his unasked question. "They are true. It was put together  
without us knowing you would ultimately see it. When the smoking man  
read it, he felt...he felt that it would make his offer all the more  
meaningful."  
  
Mulder walked to the door and opened it. He had come with such high  
hopes...  
  
He was almost out the door when she spoke again, halting his progress.  
"Fox, it wasn't all a lie."  
  
He slowly turned around and they stood facing each other. "What wasn't a  
lie?"  
  
Diana met his eyes. "Things I said...Fox I did love you..." She stopped.  
She saw a flicker of something... emotion, a memory, caring? She wasn't  
sure, but she saw it pass over his eyes before he closed them to her.  
  
He turned away without looking at her again. He spoke, voice verging on  
a whisper. "You know that I can't believe anything you say." And he shut  
the door firmly behind him.  
  
She found herself staring at the door by the time she found words to  
speak again. Her voice cracked slightly. "I know that. I can't expect  
you to."  
  
* * * * * *  
After giving herself s few minutes to recover, she placed her call.  
  
"Sir? This is Agent Fowley. He's just left."  
  
His voice was pleased. "Excellent. Did it is go as planned?"  
  
"Yes, he recovered the report and discovered my duplicity."  
  
"And his spirit?"  
  
She hesitated only for a moment. "Sufficiently broken. I believe that  
your plans for him will be able to be carried out."  
  
She could hear his glee through the phone line. It made her feel  
nauseous. "Excellent. Then we can proceed with the plans. I will contact  
him shortly."  
  
He hung up abruptly, leaving her with the dead phone still grasped  
firmly in her hand. She slowly replaced it back in its cradle. Feeling  
suddenly bereft of strength, from the confrontation with Mulder as well  
as the ramifications from it, she collapsed onto the soft comfort of the  
awaiting bed.  
  
Mulder was in a dangerous place; she could see it. She'd been there  
before. But she had made the wrong choice. She prayed that with her  
warning he would make the right one.  
  
She remembered the moment vividly. There are times in one's lives where  
everything changes. These moments in history often pass without  
acknowledgement, nor the proper significance. It is only years later,  
that when one looks back on the intricate tapestry of one's life, that  
that single moment, that single thread in time, changed the weave of all  
that followed.  
  
This was not what happened in this particular moment in her life. She  
knew from the moment she saw the man, casually leaning against her  
apartment building, smoking his cigarette, that everything was about to  
change. And at that time she was relieved. They were offering her what  
she most wanted. The tests would stop, the abductions halted, they would  
leave her alone. All she had to do was to 'get to know' a nice young man  
with an odd name of Fox. She had agreed, thinking herself saved, but in  
reality she simply traded one nightmare for another.  
  
She had been quite happy at first. Sure, there was a lingering guilt  
each time she filed a report, but it was far outweighed by the absence  
of fear and pain that had plagued her, her whole life. The fear of going  
to sleep one night in her bed, and waking up three days later in a corn  
field. The pain that filled her as the memories of what happened during  
those missing days came back to her.  
  
Yes, those first few years where very nice. She had an excellent job at  
the FBI, easily obtained through her sources of course, and she had Fox.  
He was a man driven by something dark and hidden within him. He had  
recognition within the FBI gained from his uncanny and sometimes  
'spooky' ability to profile and catch criminals. He was advancing  
quickly up the chain of command, but had slowly decided it was time to  
venture out on his own to explore. And, hey, he was handsome, witty and  
he had a sharp mind to boot. It was hardly a chore monitoring his  
activities. He treated her decent, a hell a lot better than many of her  
previous 'real' boyfriends. He didn't run around on her, the sex was  
excellent, hell, he even managed to remember her birthday one year, even  
if it was two weeks late...  
  
And they worked well together. They were solving crimes and during some  
moments, before she had time to reflect, she felt normal. She forgot  
about the shadowy government, and the secrets she held away from the  
world. Instead she focused on her work in the FBI, and on her boyfriend.  
  
But ultimately, that was her down fall. She forgot...  
  
Her assignment was simple: Keep him away from anything of importance,  
get him involved with cases that would only fuel his paranoia but  
nothing else; earn his trust. She was sent to distract him, by whatever  
means available to her as a woman. It had seemed merely like a  
baby-sitting job to her. That was of course before she fell in love with  
him.  
  
She had been so new. She had had no way of preparing herself for Fox.  
She laughed at that memory. "Preparing myself for Fox?" She doubted  
that anyone could prepare themselves for Fox. His passion for everything  
he did, his intelligence, his charisma, and all of those years ago, his  
astonishing naivete. Looking back now, it was almost hard to imagine him  
that way, with his fragile innocence still intact. But she remembered  
it. He had been the only one she knew like that. Everyone else that she  
worked with was burdened by the truth. She remembered how refreshing it  
felt to be with someone who wasn't jaded or worn down by the truth.  
  
She called up and image of Fox's face from only moments before. No,  
there wasn't any innocence left in him. He was beginning to get  
embittered, she could see it. She hoped that her warning had been  
enough to stop him. But she feared that with this latest news, and  
without the support of his partner, he would succumb to the pressures  
exerted on him.  
  
Yes, she was all too aware of Mulder and Scully's relationship. Everyone  
knew, and everyone used it to exploit them both. Even her...But not this  
time. This time she had to do what was required of her, and that meant  
choosing Scully.  
  
Scully was the best that they had. So few left after the cancer, and the  
fires...No, it had to be Scully, she was the only one that they could  
use. Diana remembered the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when  
she had discovered this, and how much worse it had grown when she had  
told the smoking man. He had grinned his trademark grimace as he puffed  
on his cigarette. "This couldn't have worked out better..."He had said,  
and began to lay out the plans to finally win Mulder over, or finally  
break him.  
  
And she had just stood there, and agreed with the plans.  
  
She had had the same tight feeling in her chest, as she had had ten year  
earlier when they had informed her that she was no longer being assigned  
to Fox.  
  
They had found out about her feeling toward him, and it couldn't be  
tolerated. She began to let things slide, let him see things that he  
shouldn't have...she'd gotten reckless. To fall for a man like Fox...it  
hadn't been wise. She risked her life as well a Fox's with her  
foolishness.  
  
'Luckily', her mind scoffed at that term, they had not simply killed  
her. Instead, she was transferred as far away from Fox as possible. She  
had barely had time to say goodbye to him, and she knew that her abrupt  
departure had hurt him, but she knew that if she had stayed he would  
have been hurt much worse. They had threatened as much.  
  
She was sent on her next assignment. Cataloging and studying, and  
witnessing experiments conducted on women across Europe. Yes the powers  
that be had quite the twisted humor. With each women she talked with,  
with each woman she watched the experiments be performed one, she was  
forced to relive her own experiences. And these times, just like her own  
experiences, she was powerless to stop.  
  
She tried once, and only once, to save one of the women. It had been an  
utter failure. The woman had ended up dead, and Diana had 'disappeared'  
for months. She still had no clear idea what was done to her in that  
time, but the threats that hovered menacingly over her head implied a  
great deal. "It's a shame about all of those women dying of that  
horrible cancer. It is a rather horrid way to go...wouldn't you say  
Agent Fowley?" Yes the intent was clear.  
  
That had been her only act of rebellion. It took years for her to regain  
her status within the group, but now she was high in the ranks, high  
enough that if she rebelled now...But she halted that thought. If there  
was any other way...but there wasn't. Scully was it. If they didn't hand  
her over, no one would survive. And the survival of the species did not  
mean that each member of that species must survive.  
* * * * * *  
6:24 am  
  
Diana woke to the jarring chirp of her cell phone. She didn't realize at  
first that she had even fallen asleep. She groggily got up and reached  
for her coat that had fallen from the bed to the floor. She padded the  
coat down awkwardly, searching by touch. On the tenth ring, she answered  
the phone.  
  
"Fowley." Her voice was still gravelly from sleep.  
  
"Yes, Diana Fowley? This is Dr. Ken Dagen."  
  
"Who?" Her mind was still fogged.  
  
"Dr. Dagen. We worked together on the study...on the subjects?"  
  
She mentally went through her index, trying to match name to face. She  
was drawing a blank. Wait... now she remembered him. A thoughtful man  
with a sensitive face and soft-spoken manner. He was the guy who  
isolated the gene from that Praise boy... very smart. That was why she  
had picked him to work with her on the selection process. She also  
remembered a conversation with him; one in which both hinted at a mutual  
dissatisfaction with the way their lives had turned out. Her grogginess  
slipped away quickly with this realization.  
  
"I remember you. Do you need something?"  
  
"I'm not sure if you can help me..."  
  
"Spit it out." She did not feel like playing games.  
  
"We had a conversation a week or two ago..."  
  
"Yes, I remember." She led him, impatient.  
  
"We both expressed a...desire...if you will, to have a second chance? I  
believe I have that second chance. I have found another way."  
  
* * * * * * 


	5. 5

March 5, 1999  
Mulder's Apartment  
5:25 pm  
  
* * * * * *  
The victor will never be asked if he told the truth. --Adolf Hitler  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Mulder was excruciatingly aware of the interplay of light and shadow. He  
sat cloaked in the specter of the evening, staring almost incoherently  
as the lights from the passing rush hour traffic beamed into his living  
room. The lights flitted from one end of the room to the next, careening  
like headless birds.  
  
Beams of light momentarily illuminating then chased off, frightened. It  
was as if the darkness burned the light and unable to tolerate it, the  
light was cast off, only to be replaced with another.  
  
The kaleidoscope of light vs. dark was enchanting, almost imbued with a  
shimmering, sensual quality that caressed him and the rest of the room.  
Shadow and light, light and darkness. On one level the chaotic shifts in  
the degree of light, from one extreme to the other, was disrupting to  
his equilibrium, but then the rhythmic swell began to have an odd  
psychological effect, and he fell into the languid tempo.  
  
Mulder closed his eyes, and his body begged for him to give in to the  
exhaustion, let the tempo take over. When was the last time he slept? He  
faintly remembered being woken up by the Gunmen...had that really been  
the last time?  
  
But no, he had to stay awake...Mulder couldn't take the chance that the  
man would come and he would be unprepared, asleep. As if he could  
sleep...  
  
He opened his eyes and discovered his gun in his hand. He studied it,  
confused. He remembered pulling it out, checking the clip, noting the  
number of bullets, but then he had set it down. The last time he looked  
in his hand he had held the report. How had the gun replaced the report?  
Where was the report?  
  
He glanced around and found it at his feet. He set the gun on the couch  
next to him, and reached for the rumpled papers. He did his best to  
smooth out the wrinkles against his knee. The report was astoundingly  
comprehensive. Scully's complete medical records both unofficial as well  
as official. He flipped to the most resent entry. It was a genetic test,  
from blood taken during their recent forced 'quarantine.' He lifted the  
paper closer to his face and studied the scrawled words written in the  
margin. Half of it was undecipherable, but he was able to make out a few  
words. "Praise gene? Compare... source? A change from previous..."  
  
Was that Gibson? Mulder had a feeling it was, but couldn't be sure. He  
needed her damn it! His memory afforded him a great amount of knowledge,  
but was relatively useless for interpretation, at least in this  
instance. That was what he needed Scully for. As if that was the only  
thing he needed her for...  
  
He would take it to the Gunmen soon enough so that they could help him  
decipher the information, but that was later. Now he would wait, it  
seemed that was all he was capable of doing now anyway.  
  
He flipped through the pages and came to the last one, the one with the  
final recommendations. It had been the only time in the report that he  
had been mentioned.  
  
"'There has been some concern regarding the subject's partner. Their  
close attachment, as well as his known interference with our plans in  
the past are causes for consideration regarding this subject. However,  
given the immeasurable need, as well as limited time span, it has been  
determined that this subject is the best candidate, and any difficulties  
that arise related to her partner will be easily nullified.'"  
  
'Easily nullified.' Is that what he had become? Easily nullified? So  
impotent, so powerless to halt what was to come? That was certainly how  
he felt. So little accomplished in these past days. And underneath those  
words was Diana's signature.  
  
Diana...his mind wavered with this new thought. He had been avoiding  
thinking about her. From the beginning, she said. The X-files, his  
regression of his memories of his sister...She had said that they were  
his, those memories, that they hadn't been manipulated or created. Yet  
he would be a fool to believe her now, after all of this. Hell, it was  
obvious that he had been a fool for quite some time.  
  
Manipulated memories, manipulated life...there seemed to be no real  
difference anymore.  
  
But he had wanted to believe her, even though his mind rebelled against  
that thought. He had proof, his mind argued, that she had deceived him  
from the beginning and he knew better than to start trusting yet another  
lie. But his mind had not seen what he had, it hadn't seen the  
expression in her eyes, the pain, the regret... and maybe something  
more?  
  
He had seen something in her expression. Something more than just a  
story to placate him. As much as he hoped that she, and the report, had  
lied, he knew it all to be the utter, painful truth. From the beginning.  
  
And she had been the one to compile the report, and it had been her  
words, her recommendation that had set this in motion.  
  
And just what had been set into motion? He wasn't yet sure of specifics;  
he didn't have the medical knowledge to be able to explain 'how' they  
did what they did, but 'what' they did was obvious.  
  
She was being changed.  
  
Or was it: She 'is' changed? Had it already happened? His eyes squeezed  
tight. Either way, there seemed to be little he could do. Even learning  
exactly what was in the document would not offer any insight as to her  
location. He had already pored over it several times over in the vain  
hope of finding a place mentioned. Perhaps a facility that would be  
used, or had been used in the past. Hell, he would be happy with just an  
indication of what part of the world she was in. He unconsciously  
shivered as the memory of Antarctica surfaced; both from the remembered  
chill of the climate, as well as the nature of the 'trip.'  
  
He moved his head slightly and his eye caught his gun at his side. He  
picked it up, and once more it replaced the papers he had held in his  
hand. Turning it indifferently between his hands, he felt the cold hard  
metal against his palm, felt its heft, and contemplated his next move.  
What now?  
  
* * * * * *  
The Cigarette Smoking Man entered the apartment with ease. He placed the  
key he had used to open the lock in his coat pocket and closed the door  
quietly behind him. Stepping further into the dark room, he tried to  
differentiate between the objects of the room and the shadows that they  
cast. He resisted the impulse to turn on the overhead light, not quite  
ready to reveal his presence. He wanted to find Mulder first.  
  
He knew that Mulder was in the apartment, surveillance had told him as  
much, but it had been several minutes since he checked, and he could no  
longer be sure as to Mulder's exact location.  
  
When the room flooded with light a moment later, CSM knew exactly where  
the other man was. Mulder stood beside him, hand still on the switch.  
Mulder came through the kitchen doorway and cautiously approached the  
man who had just entered. "Thanks for coming to me this time. It makes  
it so much easier." Mulder said, sarcasm heavy on his lips.  
  
The old man hid his surprise well. When he spoke, his voice was  
controlled and even. "No hello or how are you?"  
  
"I'm fresh out of pleasantries today."  
  
"And no gun to my head this time? You disappoint me Mulder." He said  
with a half smile on his face.  
  
"My apologies. If it would make you feel more at home." Mulder's gun was  
now even with the older man's left temple.  
  
CSM did his best to ignore growing pressure next to his eye, and pulled  
a package of cigarettes and his silver lighter from an inside pocket of  
his coat. Ever so casually, he tapped one of the cancer sticks out and  
brought it to his gaunt, parched lips. He moved his hand to indicate the  
couch and chairs in the next room. "How about we sit down for awhile?  
Make ourselves comfortable?"  
  
"I could care less if you were comfortable." But Mulder led the older  
man to the couch never the less.  
  
CMS sat on the black leather couch, and Mulder sat in the chair next to  
him, never taking his eye or gun off of him.  
  
Mulder spoke. "Just tell me why. Why was she taken again? Why her?"  
  
"But you know why, Agent Mulder. I'm sure you've read the report Agent  
Fowley prepared. It really is a fine report. Diana sure has a gift for  
the written word, wouldn't you say?" A drag from his cancer stick.  
  
"Yeah, it seems that I'm discovering new and exciting aspects to people  
all the time." Mulder's voice was flat, yet dripping with irony. "But I  
still want to hear it from you."  
  
CSM settled further into the couch, and considered Mulder's words for a  
moment before proceeding. "That first time she was taken she wasn't  
going to return. It was simply a ploy to have you believe what we wanted  
you to. It was also a convenient way of separating you two. But she was  
such a fine subject. She surprised us. So...how shall I put this? So  
robust, so hearty. All the things we did to her, yet she survived. The  
technology then was so primitive compared to now." He shook his head  
somewhat amazed. He murmured almost to himself. "The things we did..."  
His eyes refocused as he looked back to Mulder. "That was why she was  
returned, we simply ran out of things to do to her."  
  
Mulder's eyes glared as he struggled to maintain himself, to prevent him  
from strangling that smug expression off of his face. He willed himself  
not to react, to regain control of his emotions. He needed to hear what  
the man had to say. Mulder tightened his grip on his gun as he continued  
to hold it level with the other man's head.  
  
The older man continued. "We returned her to you. And she surprised us  
by surviving. So we kept even closer tabs on her. We were somewhat  
surprised and disappointed when she developed the cancer like the  
others. It is always sad when we lose one to the cancer...We thought  
that that was the end."  
  
"What about the chip you gave me?"  
  
He dismissed Mulder's question with a wave of his hand. "It was mostly  
just another method used to confuse your loyalties. We had tried it  
before...with the others...They showed some reversal, but they didn't  
live. But she did, once again. She really is a fine specimen." He  
extinguished his cigarette and lit another. He waited for Mulder to  
comment.  
  
Mulder sat, absorbing the new information. "Continue."  
  
"And of course, the icing on top. Her exposure to the virus and  
subsequent exposure to the antivirous. Of course you did have something  
to do with that. And even though your actions resulted in quite a bit of  
work and re-planning for all parties involved, it worked out for the  
best. You made her all the more valuable." He paused, took another drag  
and almost casually added. "Oh, by the way, great timing in the  
hallway."  
  
The last comment finally got a reaction from Mulder. CSM smiled as  
Mulder choked. The hand holding the gun wavered momentarily before  
dropping to his lap. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Don't play stupid with me." His voice was abrupt. "We have surveillance  
in the hallway. You've never even looked. I must say that you surprised  
me Agent Mulder." Another smirk from the older man. "I never thought  
that you would have the guts. I admit I was a bit disappointed that it  
was interrupted. I was hoping to see something interesting." His  
eyebrows raised; he took another drag.  
  
Mulder couldn't remember a time when he wanted to hit someone more. He  
wanted to grind his fist against the old man's lips until they were  
bruised and bleeding, until they could no longer form that condescending  
smirk. Mulder was surprised by his own restraint.  
  
CSM continued. "But ah, cruel fate. Would you say that fate is cruel  
Agent Mulder?"  
  
"I don't believe fate has played much of a role in my life."  
  
The old man nodded thoughtfully. "You're probably true. Someone once  
said that the best way to predict the future was to invent it."  
  
"So what is this future?"  
  
"That brings me to why I am here Agent Mulder. I'm here to discuss your  
future." He paused as he considered his next words. When he spoke  
again, his voice bordered almost on tenderness. "You were always special  
Mulder. You always held a special place in the grand scheme of things.  
Your father had such plans for you. You're part of the future, what we  
will all become. You are so much further along than the rest of us, and  
you'll go so much further than we ever could."  
  
"What do you mean by that?" There was no alarm in his voice, not yet,  
only curiosity.  
  
CSM ignored the question and continued as if uninterrupted. "Yes you're  
quite special."  
  
"Explain. What are you talking about?" The apprehension was obvious in  
Mulder's voice.  
  
He simply smiled. "Not yet. Not until you agree to my offer."  
  
"And what would that offer be?"  
  
The old man leaned in, and was completely serious as he addressed  
Mulder. "Join us, join me now and you'll be saved from what is to come."  
  
Mulder's eyes narrowed. "You've offered me this before. You already know  
my answer. What makes you think that I'll change my mind now?"  
  
He calmly took a drag from his cigarette before he spoke again, his  
voice smug. "You don't know what I'm offering."  
  
"Let me guess: The *Truth.* The mystical truth that is waved before me  
and which leads me wherever you damn well please. No. I've enough of  
this truth." Mulder's head nodded in the direction of the coffee table,  
where the report lay. "I already know all that I need to."  
  
CSM's eyes followed the path to the papers, and smiled slightly. "That's  
nothing. Only a mere fraction of the whole. Are you sure you don't want  
to learn more?"  
  
"More?" Mulder asked incredulously. He had tasted enough of that truth,  
so much so that its bitter fruit lingered and tainted the rest that he  
was. Did he really want to know the rest? Not if it meant giving up on  
Scully. "I'm not interested."  
  
"Really? Agent Mulder not interested in the truth?" His eyebrows rose in  
amusement. His serious nature of only moments before had already  
disappeared.  
  
Mulder sighed heavily. "I'm tried of playing this game with you. Tell me  
exactly what you've come here to say."  
  
"I have said it. I offer you the truth, which will in turn assure your  
survival for what is to come. And maybe in the process, find out what  
really happened to Samantha..." He trailed off as he carefully studied  
Mulder's reaction.  
  
Mulder didn't flinch. He knew the game this man was playing. He knew CSM  
expected him to jump at any vague allusion to his sister. But this hand  
had been played out so many times before, so many promises, so many  
hints, and so many false hopes. Mulder knew better; he would not take  
the bait. Instead, he asked about the only thing he cared about. "And  
what about Scully?"  
  
"Ah, Scully. It always comes back to her, doesn't it?" The old man  
paused as he deliberated for a moment. "Would you like to see her again?  
I could arrange an encounter if you would like." His lips curled into a  
smirk. "Perhaps one last hurrah before her departure?"  
  
"Her departure? Where the hell is she going?"  
  
"You don't know? Really Mulder, I thought you were smarter than that.  
Surely you must have guessed what's going to happen next."  
  
"You are going to give her up to the aliens." Mulder had not thought  
that far ahead, hadn't let himself, but he knew with a startling clarity  
that this was the truth.  
  
CSM nodded slowly, confirming Mulder's comment. "She's a necessary  
sacrifice. You will come to understand this as you learn the rest."  
Another slow drag.  
  
His surge of grief was overridden almost immediately by rage. Mulder  
felt his hands tighten around his weapon in his lap. It was no longer at  
head level, but it was still aimed at the man across from him. "I don't  
believe that. There had to have been another way."  
  
"There isn't."  
  
"Tell me where she is." Mulder demanded.  
  
"Now, Mulder, we haven't made our agreement yet. Can't let you see her  
until you join us."  
  
"I will never join you. I won't be a part of a group that would do these  
things."  
  
"If you only knew... You're already a part of us, no matter how  
unwilling you are.  
  
Mulder's voice bordered on shrill, his frustration with the old man  
surfacing. "Tell me what you mean."  
  
"Will you be joining me?"  
  
"Never."  
  
CSM looked genuinely disappointed by this response. "That is too bad.  
You would have been an asset to us." He paused for a moment. "We can't  
have you running off half cocked, can we? We are at a very crucial time.  
We can't have you interfering. You would really give up your life, your  
future for her?"  
  
"I'm not giving up on anything."  
  
"But you are." Another slow drag, and then he extinguished the cigarette  
and stood. He casually pulled his gun into view. "Like I said, can't  
have you running around messing things up. You know, it is a real shame  
that it has come to this. I'm going to miss you after all of these  
years. I'm almost sorry." He said as he directed his weapon at Mulder.  
  
Mulder stood slowly and raised his own gun. The older man glanced from  
the tip of Mulder's gun to his eyes and smiled confidently. "Am I really  
in danger? How many times have we been in this same situation?" He was  
sure of his position in this struggle for power. "You can't kill me, I  
have all of the answers. And no matter what you may claim, I know that  
the truth holds too firm a grasp on you for you to shake off. You can't  
kill me because you would be killing the one person who knows all that  
you seek."  
  
"So you know my nature. Who is the psychologist now?"  
  
"Mulder, you're an open book to me."  
  
"Then I suppose you know how this will end." Mulder indicated their  
stand off, guns held to each other's heads.  
  
The old man's voice was confident. "It ends with you dead, and me  
walking away."  
  
"Really? You think you know me that well?" Mulder felt an idiotic grin  
spread across his face. It was as if someone had carved it into the  
lower half of his face with a razor-sharp knife.  
  
He smiled. "You forget that I created you, I made you the man you are  
today."  
  
"If you knew me at all, you would know that the promise of the truth  
does not hold the same pull as it used to. And you would understand that  
the worse thing that you could have done was hurt her. In doing so, you  
sealed your fate." Mulder paused. "Do you believe in fate? I didn't  
used to, but now I'm beginning to change my mind. I would like to  
believe that there was a reason that we are here like this. It's a  
chance to take back something. I'm going to take back my life. But there  
is only one way to do so...by taking yours."  
  
"That isn't something that you would do." The old man was only bluffing;  
he could not hide the fear in his voice.  
  
"Your creation has turned on you." Mulder paused again and smiled,  
liking the sound of that phrase. He continued. "After all of these  
years, after all of the times that I have held my gun to your head, you  
have never believed that I would pull the trigger."  
  
Mulder pulled the trigger.  
  
* * * * * * 


	6. 6

  
2630 Hegel Place  
Apartment 32  
6:05pm  
  
* * * * * *  
If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere  
committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them  
from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and  
evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing  
to destroy a piece of his own heart? -- Alexander Solzhenitsyn  
* * * * * *  
  
  
Cohen picked up the phone, even as the sound of the gunshot lingered in  
the air. Impatiently he waited for the phone to pick up. "Shit, shit,  
shit! This is not happening. This is not happening." His thoughts  
raced as he studied the screen before him. He moved a little closer to  
get a better view of the black and white picture on the monitor. On it  
was the body, lying crumpled on the floor; a dark area staining the rug  
near were the remains of the head was found. Damn it! He should have  
known that when the shit hit the fan, he would be the one working.  
  
His call was finally answered. In actuality, it had only been a minute,  
but had felt like eternity. "Yes?" A female voice demanded.  
  
Cohen was slightly startled by the feminine voice and caused him to  
stumble over his words. "Sir...I mean Ma'am...Sir?"  
  
Fowley spoke harshly. "Look, this must obviously be very important for  
you to call on this line, so spit it out."  
  
"Mulder has just killed him."  
  
"And we are certain of this?"  
  
Cohen studied the screen before him. The body was not moving. "Gunshot  
to the head. If he isn't dead yet, he will be soon enough."  
  
The line was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "Where is  
Mulder now?"  
  
Cohen began to open his month in reply when he glanced at the screen  
again. Mulder was gone. "Shit!" He ignored the phone for a moment as he  
furiously typed at the keyboard. The screen rapidly flipped from one  
screen to the next: living room, bedroom, kitchen, out in the hallway,  
the front lobby. Nothing. Mulder had somehow managed to leave unnoticed.  
"Shit!" He did not need this. Not now, not when he was on the phone  
with...well who ever it was she must be important.  
  
"Um...Ma'am... I seem to have lost him...Do you want me to..." He  
trailed off.  
  
"No. You need to stay there and contain the situation." Her voice was  
distant, as if distracted.  
  
"Do you want me to call someone to take care--"  
  
"No." Her voice was abrupt, no longer distant. "I will make those calls.  
You just make sure that this stays a private matter." She hung up.  
  
Cohen began to work. The call had taken way too long; already the 911  
calls were backing up. Hurriedly, he switched the phone over. "Emergency  
911. What is your emergency?"  
  
The caller was an old woman, and her shrill voice graded on his nerves.  
He winced as she spoke. "Yes! Yes I'm reporting the sound of a gunshot  
in my apartment building. It sounded like it was across the hall from  
me. There is a FBI agent that works there; do you think he needs help?  
Do you think he shot a bad guy? You know, I see quite a few--"  
  
Cohen interrupted. "Ma'am? What is your location?"  
  
"2630 Hegel Place, Alexandria. I think that it was in apartment 42,  
which is right across the hall from me. You know--"  
  
He interrupted her once again. "Thank you ma'am. We will be sending some  
officers out, and for the time being, I recommend that you stay inside  
and lock your doors. Thank you for your call." He hung up before she  
could speak again. And so it went, call after call. He had had to do  
this so many times before, that now it hardly required any effort. As he  
made his way through the calls, he kept a close eye on the old man's  
fallen form. No movement. Yes, the man was definitely dead.  
  
He hung up the last call and leaned forward. A movement had caught his  
eye. He typed a few keys and the image enlarged. What was it that he was  
seeing? There was a dark stain of blood surrounding the body from the  
wound, but there was now something more.  
  
From the remains of the head, from where Cohen imagined the center of  
his face would have been, poured more liquid. It was not flowing the way  
the blood was. The blood had coagulated too much to be as fluid as that.  
He leaned even closer, but it didn't help. He cursed the black and white  
screen. Couldn't tell jack from shit.  
  
A sharp rap on the door interrupted his thoughts. He glanced at his  
watch in surprise. Already? That was most defiantly the quickest  
response time he had witnessed. Hardly five minutes had passed.  
  
He stood up and walked to the door. When he opened it, a man wearing a  
black leather jacket strolled in, ever so confidently. Cohen didn't  
recognize the man who came in, but then again he didn't expect to. It  
wasn't as if he got out much.  
  
Cohen addressed the man who had just entered. "What are you doing here?  
You were just supposed to go to his apartment. There's no reason for you  
to come here." He closed the door quickly, first glancing out the door  
for witnesses. He walked past the leather-clad man, and sat behind the  
desk.  
  
Krycek took his time answering; he was too busy studying the screen.  
Cohen looked at the screen as well. The strange movement of before had  
ceased. When Krycek finally spoke, he didn't bother to face him. "I just  
came to confirm the story."  
  
"Confirm the story?" Cohen asked incredulously. "I think that the body  
would be enough proof for you."  
  
Patiently, Krycek spoke to the underling. "Yes, that is true. But I have  
to make sure it was Mulder who did it right? We wouldn't want there to  
be any misunderstandings surrounding his death now, would we?" He smiled  
his most insincere smile.  
  
Cohen's eyes narrowed slightly. "I reported it as it happened. It  
happened too quickly for me to interfere."  
  
"I wasn't implying that you should have done something. The old man got  
what he deserved. Hell, I knew that Mulder would eventually snap one day  
and shoot him. Anyone who didn't see this coming is a damn fool." Krycek  
nodded his head in the direction of the monitor that displayed the  
smoking man's fallen form, and spoke again. "Look, I know that it was  
Mulder, but I just have to see it with my own eyes to confirm."  
  
Cohen sighed heavily, beyond irritated. He hated it when anyone came in  
here, into his space that he had so carefully created. He hated it even  
more when they came in demanding these ridiculous requests. He found the  
proper segment on the tape, and silently pushed play.  
  
Krycek studied the tape, fascinated. He watched as Mulder so calmly  
raised his gun to the old man's head, and couldn't help but smile as the  
gun fired and the face crumpled inwards.  
  
"Have the necessary steps been initiated to keep this contained?" Krycek  
asked without taking his eyes from the screen.  
  
"Yes. I have taken care of all of that. The only thing left is for you  
to take care of the body." Cohen looked pointedly at the man next to  
him.  
  
Krycek nodded, distracted. "Good. Any news on Mulder's location?"  
  
"No. He managed to slip away."  
  
"And we were the only one you called regarding this?" Krycek finally  
turned his head and directed his gaze on the man sitting behind the  
desk.  
  
"Of course. I'm not about to break protocol with something as important  
as this." He pointed his hand to the monitor. The play back had stopped  
a moment earlier, and it had automatically returned to the real time  
display of the fallen body.  
  
The man in leather couldn't have been more pleased with the information.  
"Excellent." And before Cohen could react, Krycek had pulled out his  
weapon and placed it at his temple. Recreating the scene that had played  
out just seconds before on the monitor, Krycek pulled the trigger.  
  
* * * * * *  
Krycek listened patiently with his ear pressed to the phone as he waited  
for his call to be picked up. He casually shoved the body away from the  
chair and sat down, making himself comfortable by raising his feet onto  
the desk. He cradled the phone with his neck, and with his hand he  
adjusted the controls and watched distractedly as the moment replayed  
itself.  
  
Several seconds past before the line was picked up. "Fowley." was the  
terse greeting.  
  
"We have confirmation. The bastard beat me to it." He sighed,  
disappointed.  
  
"Exposure?"  
  
Krycek leaned closer to the monitor. He stopped the tape just after the  
gun fired; the head was mid explosion. He smiled at the wonderful sight.  
  
"Krycek?" The shrill voice pulled him away from his momentary  
distraction. "Are you there? Was Mulder exposed?"  
  
He slowly turned a dial that moved the video up frame by frame. "He  
never directly touched the body."  
  
"What about the blood? Did he get any on him?"  
  
"He was standing close enough I suppose."  
  
"Then it is poss--"  
  
He interrupted her. "But it isn't possible. It isn't found in the  
bloodstream. We both know that it isn't passed like that."  
  
"But still--"  
  
Krycek interrupted again. "But nothing. It is nothing that we need to  
worry about."  
  
"Fine." Her voice was terse. "But it would still be nice to know where  
he is. Do we know his location now?"  
  
"I didn't realize he was my mission." His voice was beginning to take on  
a mocking tone. "Why the hell should I care? He isn't important. This  
wasn't what you wanted me to do anyway, was it?"  
  
"I still want you to find him."  
  
He sighed with frustration. Would the bitch ever let up? "I didn't see  
him leave, but his car is still here, so wherever he went he probably  
walked. He won't have gotten far. When I am done with what you sent me  
to do I'll see what I can do about finding him."  
  
"Good." She moved onto he next question. "What about containment?"  
  
Krycek glanced at the fallen form beside him. "Just Mulder, you, me, and  
the dearly departed man at my feet know. It is contained."  
  
"And the bodies?"  
  
"Will be taken care of."  
  
"Make sure you take the extra precautions."  
  
Krycek placed his hand into his jacket pocket and fingered the small  
dark green fluid filled vial within his hand. "Of course. As I said  
before, all will be taken care of." He replied confidently as he hit the  
off button to disconnect.  
  
* * * * * *  
Lone Gunman Headquarters  
8:50pm  
  
The trio of men paused in their work as a soft 'thud' emanated from the  
highly secured front door. The dull sound was followed by silence. The  
men glanced at each other for a brief moment before Frohike stood up  
from his desk and walked to peer through the peephole.  
  
Once he saw who was behind he rapidly unlocked the numerous locks  
separating him from the man on the other side. For the first time since  
he had installed the locks, Frohike cursed them as his thick fingers  
attacked the knobs and switches. After innumerable moments had passed,  
Frohike released the last of the locks from the doorframe, and let  
Mulder stumble inside.  
  
"God, he looks like hell.", Was Frohike's first thought as Mulder  
lurched into the confines of the room. Eyes dark, empty; his stance  
suggested intoxication, but no odor of alcohol clung to him. "He is  
exhausted. Totally utterly exhausted. Physically and emotionally."  
Frohike realized. He had known Mulder long enough to have witnessed his  
various aspects of his nature, but never to this extreme.  
  
Frohike closed the door behind them, only bothering to turn half of the  
locks before returning his attention to Mulder. Buy this time, both  
Langly and Byres had approached Mulder. A question was just forming on  
Byres' lips when Mulder's action stopped him.  
  
Without a word, Mulder reached into his disheveled coat and pulled out a  
rumpled packet of papers and handed it to Byres. Once completed, he  
reached back into his coat and pulled his gun into view. He placed this  
in Langly's hand. Langly stared at the heavy metal object in his hand  
astonished. Langly looked from his hand to the hand that had given the  
weapon to him. The other two men followed Langly's eyes as they trailed  
from the gun to Mulder's blood splattered hand. It was then that  
Frohike noticed the faint red splatters that covered his gray T-shirt  
and part of his neck.  
  
Mulder ignored the Gunmen's wide eyes, and instead walked past them into  
the back room. He stumbled over a small pile of clothing on the floor,  
and let himself fall onto one the beds, promptly passing out.  
  
* * * * * * 


	7. 7

  
March 6, 1999  
Lone Gunman Headquarters  
2:13am  
  
* * * * * *  
You can justify, rationalize, and excuse yourself until the day  
you die. Or you can face the truth. That the decisions you have  
made have brought you to where you are. And if you don't like  
where you are, you can make a new decision. --Unknown  
* * * * * *  
  
Something was digging a small hole into the middle of Mulder's back. He  
felt a sharp edge digging into that small area between the shoulder  
blades and directly on the spines of his vertebra that was absolutely  
impossible to reach. Yes, that was what roused him from his blessed  
sleep. What was it? Still not opening his eyes, he shifted on the bed.  
At least that is what he thought he was on. It felt like a bed. Not his  
bed. Someone else's bed. His thoughts were still fragmented as he tried  
to shrug off sleep's fog that blanketed his mind.  
  
He rolled onto his stomach, and in the process entangled himself within  
his overcoat. He cursed under his breath as he yanked on one corner,  
releasing it from under him. His eyes still closed, still unwilling to  
leave the blessed world of sleep, he passed his hand over the top of the  
blanket.  
  
With a satisfied cry of success, he came up with what had so rudely  
woken him. He slowly cracked one eye open, then the other.  
  
The room was dark, lit only by the faint sliver of light that slid under  
the door. He sat up quickly in alarm. Where the hell was he? The alarm  
was mostly concerning how he had gotten here, not necessarily about  
danger to himself. He knew he was safe here, as safe as he could be, at  
least.  
  
How did he know that? He shook his head in confusion, his head still not  
wanting to work. The synapses were firing, but no connections were being  
achieved. Ok, back to were he was. How did he know where he was...he  
closed his eyes and tried to concentrate; tried to remember.  
  
Stale pizza... Stale pizza...and, what was that? It was burnt electrical  
equipment. The Gunmen. He was at the Gunmen's. His pleased smile faded  
rapidly, however, as the circumstances of how he had ended up here began  
to fill in. A gunshot, fired by him...dark, oh so dark blood... blood  
pooling, seeping into the rug at his feet...  
  
He stood, slightly swaying, and found the door. The light tumbled in as  
he opening it, and he squinted at the startling brightness of it. The  
light seemed to pierce his eyes, boring a hole that lead directly into  
his brain. He looked down at the object that he found he was still  
gripping in his hand, the thing that had woken him up moments before. He  
had no idea what the hell it was. Without a second thought, Mulder  
causally tossed the object, likely a part to one of the many half built  
computers that littered the Gunmen's residence, back on the bed. Let one  
of them discover it in his sleep.  
  
Snatches of conversation floated to Mulder as he walked down the short  
hallway between the bedroom and the slightly larger front room. Their  
talking was punctuated by the occasional rapid flurry of typing on the  
keyboard.  
  
It was Byres voice that he picked out first. "--anything?" The door  
closed.  
  
"No. Thank God." Was the relived reply. Frohike. He was locking the door  
now; Mulder could hear the bolts sliding into place.  
  
"The only thing that was different was his rug. Not there anymore."  
Langly added.  
  
The next words were muffled and Mulder didn't hear it all. "--more?"  
  
"Yes, right after you left--" Bryes' words were lost amongst a rustling  
of papers. "--Baldwin at Los Alamos. He's looking into it for us." More  
rustling. "-- initial findings seem to agree with ours, but I haven't  
yet finished reading the results from GenBank."  
  
"Hey." Mulder stepped out into the room.  
  
The Gunmen looked up, surprised. Langly glanced at his watch. "Awake  
already? Didn't think that you would be up for hours."  
  
Mulder shrugged his shoulders and sat down on a stool and leaned heavily  
on the desk. "I guess I wasn't as tired as you thought." He nodded his  
head in the direction of the papers Byres held. "The report. Have you  
gone through it yet?"  
  
Byres glanced down to his hand. He had forgotten that he still held  
them. "Yes. Yes, we have. Um...but we haven't yet completed the final  
analysis. There seemed to be some conflicting readings, so we contacted  
an old friend of ours to see what he could make of it."  
  
Mulder nodded silently. "How much longer until he gets back to you?"  
  
"He just sent it actually. But I wanted to look it over first before I  
discuss it with you." Byres glanced at his companions as he spoke again.  
"Maybe while you wait you guys can talk with him about what you found at  
his apartment." The two men nodded and Byres headed to the other side of  
the room.  
  
Mulder looked surprised. "How did..." He trailed off, not quite sure how  
to finish.  
  
"You woke up for a moment, earlier. You mentioned your place..." Langly  
shrugged his shoulders. "The rest was easy enough to figure out."  
  
"And what did you find?"  
  
"Nothing. We found nothing." Frohike answered, and it was obvious that  
he was relived by his news.  
  
"Just your rug. That was the only thing that was different. They took  
it. I guess whoever couldn't get the stains out." Langly finished.  
  
"That rug was always a bitch to clean." Mulder said flatly. The only  
thing that could be heard was Byres in his corner, cautiously typing  
away. Mulder glanced over to the quiet man, and back to the others.  
"What did you find?"  
  
Frohike's voice was pained. "Experiments that were done." He practically  
choked on the next words. "Experiments that were planned."  
  
"What kind of tests?" He asked quietly, the words escaping from him  
before he can call them back.  
  
Frohike wouldn't, or couldn't answer. The two shared a look and Langly  
answered. "Genetic."  
  
"Tell me what you found out."  
  
"Byres would be the best person to do that. But we should wait to see  
what Baldwin has to say." Hope briefly flared in Langly's voice. "We  
could be wrong."  
  
"You guys aren't wrong." Mulder walked across the room to look over  
Byres shoulder as he sat, alternatingly typing and shifting through a  
shack of papers." Tell me what you found."  
  
Byres sighed and looked up at the man towering above him. "Baldwin seems  
to agree with us, although that still doesn't explain just what all this  
means. When we were looking through this, it became clear that the  
majority of the tests dealt with the manipulation of genes." He paused  
as he shuffled through the papers.  
  
"There is a manipulation of genes, but the thing that we couldn't seem  
to understand was *why* there was manipulation. When you manipulate  
genes, something is changed or introduced into the sequence, but as far  
as we were able to determine, nothing was introduced nor deleted.  
Playing with genetics is a very long and immensely complicated at times,  
and to go to all of this trouble for not..."  
  
Byres paused and Frohike interjected. "Let's just say, I seriously doubt  
that these people are not in it just for the knowledge, for the  
betterment of scientific research."  
  
Mulder nodded. "What did your friend have to say? What did he make of  
all of this?"  
  
Byres glanced to the computer screen before him. "He works at the Los  
Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico and much of what he does deals  
with working with GenBank."  
  
Mulder looked confused. "GenBank?"  
  
"The world's major computer repository for DNA sequence information."  
Langly answered.  
  
Byres continued. "He's done quite a bit of work on the human genome  
project and is familiar with a great range of tests and analysis's done  
to genes. From what he has said, it seems that what these experiments  
entail...well he has never seen them before."  
  
He glanced up to Mulder's worried face, and spoke again, trying to ease  
his worries before they became full blown. "But that doesn't mean he  
doesn't know what was done. The reason he has never seen it before is  
because there doesn't seem to be any point to it. There would be nothing  
to gain, at least that is what he thinks."  
  
"So what exactly were these experiments? Why...I mean what were they  
actually doing?" Mulder asked.  
  
"You know how DNA is made up of exons and introns, right? The exons are  
what actually make the proteins, what actually carry the genetic  
information; while the introns are those noncoding stretches of DNA that  
get removed before it is translated into protein." Byres looked to  
Mulder, making sure he was following.  
  
"Yes, that is one of the fundamental components of genetics." Mulder  
nodded in understanding.  
  
Byres continued. "These introns make up the majority, while the exons,  
the areas that actually do the work, make up only a small percentage of  
genes. This has been one of those scientific mysteries. It is not clear  
why most genes of higher organisms should be broken up into short exons  
separated by these huge stretches of seemingly useless DNA. What makes  
it particularly puzzling is that introns are all painfully transcribed  
into RNA only to be snipped out and thrown away almost immediately  
after. These segments of introns have been largely ignored by the  
scientific community because of their seemingly lack of importance.  
However, recently there have been studies that have found that some of  
these introns contain genes of their own, although what the function of  
these genes might be and why there would be such genes within genes  
still remain to be discovered."  
  
"Anyway, the point of this is that the treatments that were to be done  
on Scully did not deal with inserting new code, or sequences, or even  
really changing what was already there--" Langly broke Byres off. "That  
isn't exactly correct."  
  
Bryes looked at Langly and nodded slightly, acknowledging that he may  
have misspoke. "Well, I don't mean that exactly. Nothing new has been  
added per say, nothing new as in from an outside source, but it may have  
as well been."  
  
"What are you saying exactly? It seems that that statement contradicts  
itself. How can something be added, yet not?" But even as he spoke, a  
glimmer of comprehension was beginning. Mulder met Byres' eyes and Byres  
nodded his head, confirming what Mulder had realized.  
  
Mulder spoke, giving voice to his thought, and finally making real what  
had really happened. "They didn't add anything, they just stopped those  
introns, those genes that always get cut out, from being removed."  
  
* * * * * *  
Department of Defense  
2:52pm  
  
"I'm sorry, I don't understand what you are asking me to do..." The  
doctor's voice faltered in confusion.  
  
Diana stared down at the diminutive doctor, her irritation growing. "I  
think that I explained myself well enough. I said prepare her for  
transport."  
  
"But the procedures haven't been completed. And we haven't yet  
determined how well she is responding to the treatment--"  
  
"I have the results here." She held up several papers in front of the  
man. She moved them before he had the opportunity to get a good look.  
"The results came back and showed that the tests are going as planned."  
  
"Not all of the tests..." His voice lacked force.  
  
"We have already demonstrated that we have the technology. It is not  
necessary for all of the tests to be conducted. We have already found  
out what we need to know." She responded in a no-nonsense voice.  
  
"Are you sure? My orders here clearly indicate-"  
  
Her voice was sharp, abrasive. "I am now leading this project, and your  
orders have changed." Diana studied the man before her, trying to  
determine the best way to approach him. She didn't have the time to  
negotiate with him all night. Perhaps a touch of the truth would help.  
She glanced around the room, noted that the others were occupied, and  
pulled the man closer to her. Speaking in a hushed tone, she began  
again. "Look, the man who began this, the one that told you to start  
this project, he has been killed."  
  
The doctor's eyes widen with surprise. "Killed? How?"  
  
"The details of his death have not as of yet been determined. However,  
this has dramatically altered the plans. He was the liaison between the  
aliens and us. It is very important that his death is kept from them. We  
are at a very delicate time, and anything could upset the balance. We  
need to hand her over before they discover that anything has changed."  
  
The doctor' head bobbed in enthusiasm, pleased that he was privy to this  
information. "I understand. We will get her ready for transport." He  
turned away from Diana and walked to the others of the room and began  
speaking the new orders in a short clipped tone.  
  
Diana watched, removed, as Scully was prepared for transport.  
  
Step one was now completed.  
  
* * * * * *  
South I-95  
Virginia  
5:25pm  
  
Traffic was light and well behaved, demanding only the edge of Diana's  
attention. For that she was thankful. She carefully steered the car with  
one hand as she placed a call on her cell phone with another, all the  
while keeping a close eye on the big rig ahead of her that was caring  
the 'cargo.' Multitasking at it's best. The other end of the line was  
picked up immediately. He had been waiting for her call.  
  
"Yes." There was no need for introductions. She knew Krycek's voice  
well.  
  
Her words were clipped. "It's begun."  
  
"Time?"  
  
She glanced at the clock displayed on the dashboard. "Less than an hour,  
plus the time it will take to get to your location."  
  
"Good. We will be waiting."  
  
There was a long pause as she considered the next question. "Did you  
locate him?" She was distressed to hear a tremor in her voice, instead  
of the cool indifference she'd hoped to project.  
  
"Does that really matter?"  
  
Silence. He was just trying to provoke her. Another moment passed and he  
gave into the silence. "He left his buddies and went to her place. He  
has been there most of the day, pining away for her."  
  
"That wasn't so difficult, was it?" She smiled grimly.  
  
Krycek knew where this was leading. They had already discussed this  
before, and he tried to head off her next comment. "We don't have time  
to deal with him. You know how he likes to interfere."  
  
"Have we determined if he is infected?"  
  
"No. It would be a hell of a lot easier if you let me kill him."  
  
"Not an option." A little shrill, that. "Not an option," she said again,  
to take the edge off it.  
  
He waited a second or two before responding, and she could almost see  
his satisfied smile. Damn him. "We can't take him with us. Things are  
cut close enough as it is."  
  
"There will be time." The words sounded weak even to her own ears.  
  
His voice was firm. He would not give in on this issue. "Look, you do  
your part on your end, and I'll do mine. And that means when I say we  
can't, we can't. Understand?"  
  
She had regained discipline of her voice, and when she spoke, her words  
were devoid of emotion. "Fine. You know best." She hung up and threw the  
phone in the empty seat next to her. Damn him. Him and his cock-sure  
attitude. She hated working with him on this, hated giving up some of  
her limited trust to him. No time? "No time my ass." She muttered under  
her breath as she pressed against the gas petal. She closed the distance  
between her and the truck that she had lost during the conversation.  
  
The drivers knew that she was following, so she didn't have to deal with  
stealth yet. Giving the men her most authoritative stare, she had fed  
them a line about needed to personally supervise the transfer. They  
hadn't even questioned it.  
  
She ran through the plan in her head for the hundredth time in as many  
hours. One driver, two men in the back with Scully, monitoring her  
condition. Three total. She could handle that. The men thought that they  
were simply transferring her to another facility, which was correct, but  
what they didn't realize was that this particular one had long ago been  
deserted. There would be no one to welcome them when they arrived. She  
would need to act fast before they suspected.  
  
* * * * *  
Stevenson Labs,  
North Ashland, Virginia  
8:01pm  
  
Scully awoke. She knew nothing, remembered nothing, and felt neither the  
desire nor the will to activate cognition. She lay unmoving and might  
have so continued for an indefinite period of time had not a physical  
sensation finally forced itself upon her consciousness. Someone was  
speaking to her. No...make that yelling at her. And tugging on her arm.  
"What the...?", was her half thought. She was not yet ready for full  
thoughts.  
  
She opened her eyes, trying to make out the dark shape above her, but  
the person was half hidden in the faint light. Finally, after several  
more moments, the words began to penetrate into her mind, along with  
voice of the woman who spoke them.  
  
"Agent Scully, wake up. Dana, you need to wake up, we don't have much  
time."  
  
Scully widened her eyes as she recognized the person from which the  
voice originated. She felt the sharp needle of a syringe withdraw from  
her forearm. "Wha...What is going on here?" She looked around in  
groggily, the haze of narcotics still swimming within her blood stream.  
"Where am I? What are we doing  
here?"  
  
Diana didn't pause in her effort to free Scully from the bindings.  
"Look, we don't have time to really discuss this. Both of our lives are  
in danger. We have to get you out of here.".  
  
Scully was alert enough to laugh bitterly into the dark face above her.  
"And should I believe you?" She asked with incredulity. "You've given me  
no reason to trust your motives."  
  
Diana paused. Her efforts of unfastening the remaining straps forgotten  
as she stared Scully straight in the eye. "Look, you probably can't read  
my thoughts yet, but you should at least be able to get a sense of my  
emotions. Am I here to harm you? Am I telling you the truth when I say  
that I'm your only chance you have of getting out of here alive?" Diana  
reached her right hand up to Scully's face and cupped her cheek.  
  
Scully's eyes slowly blinked in confusion. "Read her thoughts? What  
the--"  
  
-Flash-  
  
She saw herself, on a table, eyes closed, unconscious, with a room  
filled with machines, each hooked up to her. And she felt a grief and a  
helplessness that didn't belong to her. Before she could absorb more,  
the vision switched.  
  
-Flash-  
  
A wave of disgust filled Scully as the next scene presented itself. She  
saw a man as if she were looking through a haze of smoke, and then his  
face was clear. Scully's own disgust joined Diana's as the Cigarette  
Smoking Man's pasty face reveled itself and his face cracked into a grim  
smile. She heard his voice in her ear. "Excellent..." Scully  
shivered.  
  
-Flash-  
  
Mulder! She saw Mulder. He was towering above her, his posture rigid  
with incredulity, rage and betrayal. "How long?" His voice was  
sharp, biting. Harsher that she had ever heard from him. She felt fear,  
and anguish, and regret, and... and...love? Diana loved him? She could  
be capable of such an emotion?  
  
Scully could not dwell on that for long. She was hit by an on slot of  
images. Fragmented, disjointed. Diana's thoughts.  
  
-Flash-  
  
"...time... no time have to go now, have to get out of here damn it,  
just trust-- but how can she? no one can trust me get out of here save  
her, save me (but what about mulder? can't save him... no, no time, have  
to go) have to go now... come on scully, believe me, believe me... save  
the world, save us all... danger... are they coming? have they found  
out? no, not yet, couldn't have, but soon... save us scully... can any  
of us be saved? krycek said...damn him...trust him? why? no better  
than...but yes, has to be... dagen is good... he said plan will work...  
will it? has to... has to... come on scully... now, have to go now..."  
  
-Flash-  
  
It ended abruptly when Diana disengaged her hand from Scully's face. She  
undid the last of the straps as Scully lay in a stupor, trying to  
frantically to categorize and explain what had taken place. But she  
didn't have time. At that moment Diana pulled her into a sitting  
position. Scully immediately felt the blood leave her head and black  
spots began to waver before her eyes. For a moment she was certain that  
she would faint. She firmly clutched the bed with both hands in an  
effort maintain her equilibrium.  
  
Diana noticed and spoke again, this time with a softer voice. "Try to  
take it easy. You haven't been up for awhile."  
  
Scully reopened her eyes, already feeling her physical lightheadedness  
dissipating. She still felt a psychic vertigo, however. "How long?" She  
asked softly.  
  
Diana hesitated. "Just over two weeks." She tossed her a pair of scrubs.  
"Here, put these on."  
  
Scully tried to digest all the information that was coming so quickly as  
she pulled on the clothing offered to her. Where was she? How did she  
get here? What was the last thing that she remembered? Mulder and her  
standing on the side of the road. Her back had been turned away from  
him. He had reached with his hand and had begun to turn to face him  
when-- Her memory came to an abrupt end. "...and then I now I'm  
here." A dawning realization swept over her. "I've been taken  
again." That fact had barely seeped through her thought processes,  
before the next one followed. Mulder was there too. Had he been taken as  
well?  
  
"Mulder! Is he ok?" The alarm was evident in her voice.  
  
"Mulder is...well, Mulder." Diana paused as she tried to come up with  
the right words. "They didn't take him, if that is what you are asking."  
She paused again. "But he isn't ok. I don't think he believes that you  
are coming back to him."  
  
"Am I coming back to him?" Scully asked pointedly.  
  
Diana avoided the question as she helped Scully dress. "We need to get  
out of here. Our window of opportunity is limited. The others will soon  
discover that you are not where you are supposed to be. You have to  
follow me now." She held out her hand for Scully to grasp.  
  
As they approached the door, Scully realized that they were in the back  
of what looked to be a big rig, or another truck of that type. The  
'room' was filled with medical equipment. She recognized a few: heart  
monitor, IV stand securely fashioned in one corner, meds and saline  
attached, and crash cart type cabinet filled with a defibrillator and  
resuscitation equipment. There was numerous other equipment that she did  
not recognize immediately. Scully wasn't able to look too closely before  
Diana's demanding pull on her hand grew too great to ignore.  
  
They stepped out onto the flat concrete slab that made up the loading  
area and Scully was met by two massive double doors that led into the  
building. Diana turned her around and helped Scully step down onto the  
gravel of the ground. Once outside they were surrounded by near  
darkness. The only source of light was the half open door and the dying  
moon overhead, pale and thin as a fishhook. Scully had only taken a step  
or two when she tripped over a fallen form. Only Diana's quick reflexes  
and strong arm saved her from stumbling to the ground. "Careful," was  
the only thing Diana said before urging her on.  
  
Scully's eyes slowly adjusted to the low light. She was just able to  
make out the form lying prone. It was a man, dead. And from the dark  
shadow that surrounded him that could only be blood, Scully guessed that  
the cause of death was a gunshot wound. She was interrupted from her  
thoughts as Diana jerked urgently on her hand.  
  
By necessity, or perhaps courtesy, Diana walked slowly. Scully followed  
her through the dark night, holding her hand as a guide, and following  
close. Head still foggy, the night began to take on a surreal quality.  
How had she ended up in this place? Not just this physical here and now,  
but this situation. Surely she had not planned this, nor could she have  
imagined it. How had her life events directed her to this specific  
moment in time? A place where she would find herself the subject of  
surely hideous experiments, (this much was obvious, the what, the why,  
and the how would come later) getting rescued by Fowley of all people,  
and to top it off, she had the additional power to read minds.  
  
"Don't be silly Dana, surely it was a mistake, a hallucination left  
over from the drugs given to you. That's it. There is no such thing as  
mind reading. Yes, hang on to that thought Dana, you may come out sane  
after all." Her rational side argued irrationally. But even as she  
argued, thoughts not quite her own entered her head. "come on... is  
she ok? i think that she must, she can walk... no time, hurry... scully,  
you have to hurry and follow me..." Lord, what a twisted dream this  
was.  
  
If only it was a dream... But it was far too real for that. The taste of  
garlic bread lingered in the back of her throat, a by-product from the  
anesthesia used to put her under, and made her want to gag. The feel of  
the gravel wearing away the cheap, thin-soled shoes she wore. The sound  
of the crushed rocks grinding beneath their feet was the only thing she  
heard besides her own breathing.  
  
The cool night air cut through the thin cotton of the scrubs she had  
donned. Crossing her arms, she rubbed the gooseflesh that pimpled her  
skin and half consciously began to assess her physical situation. She  
ran her hands over the length of her exposed skin and moved to her head.  
No lesions, new scars, or bruising; at least from her cursory exam. Her  
mind continued its natural checklist. It had become so well ingrained  
within her that conscious thought was not necessary.  
  
She was walking fine; there was no pain on movement and she had full  
range of motion to all extremities so she knew that nothing was broken.  
There was no pain, numbness or tingling anywhere else. She found nothing  
wrong. Except for her momentary light-headedness, she felt no different.  
In fact, she felt better. A marked difference over last time.  
  
The night was soaking with tension. They moved away from the building  
and now walked parallel to it. The deserted building about 50 yards  
away. Scully estimated that it's prime would have been in the mid-60s  
from the degree of damage to the exterior, but it was still an  
impressive facility. There were several outlying buildings surrounding  
the main complex, and they headed toward one of them. There seemed to be  
no living thing around them, but Scully was still extremely wary.  
Uneasy, Scully followed Diana as they approached a car half-hidden  
behind one of the removed buildings.  
  
Diana opened the passenger door. "Get in."  
  
* * * * * * 


	8. 8

Richmond, Virginia  
8:25pm  
  
******  
How did I get here? Somebody pushed me. Somebody must have  
set me off in this direction and clusters of other hands must have  
touched themselves to the controls at various times, for I would  
not have picked this way for the world. --Joseph Heller  
******  
  
Krycek had remained as silent and still as a lizard sunning itself on a  
rock ever since he cut the engine off. Dagen couldn't understand how the  
man could stay so damn still. He couldn't stop moving. The seat was too  
uncomfortable, the car too quiet, the air too dense. It was as tangible  
as a cotton blanket wrapping around him claustrophobically.  
  
And it was too easy to think about all that could go wrong. He glanced  
behind them to see if there was anything suspicious. "Stop it! No one  
could know yet." He needed something, anything to distract him.  
  
Dagen leaned forward and switched the radio on. Anything to block out  
the silence. Before his hand made its return trip back to his lap,  
Krycek had turned the radio off.  
  
"Hey--" He began before he edited himself. Krycek didn't need to say  
anything; he just cast Dagen a warning look.  
  
Krycek's posture may have seemed indolent, but to Dagen he gave off the  
impression of a reptile lying in wait, constantly watching for an  
opportunity to strike. Dagen acknowledged that comparing him to a  
serpent was based solely on his unmitigated dislike of the man. To say  
nothing of being unfair to serpents.  
  
Dagen leaned back in his seat, his frustration reaching his upper limit,  
but unable to do anything about it. How the hell had he gotten involved  
in this mess? Sitting in a parking lot of a damn 7-11, in the middle of  
the night, waiting with a common thug for two women to arrive. One, the  
new heir apparent to the vast underworld of evil doers, turned good; the  
other a FBI agent. One who had been kidnapped, had various highly  
unethical (to say the least) experiments preformed on her, and who was  
now in the process of being 'liberated.'  
  
Some liberation. Out of the pot, into the fire. Isn't that how that  
saying goes? And, to top it all off, add some aliens and a planned  
Armageddon into the mix, and one has quite the 'situation.'  
  
And what a situation it was.  
  
Dagen sighed, debating whether he should speak or not. At least his own  
voice would drown out the quiet for a moment or two. "How are we doing  
time wise?"  
  
"Just as planned."  
  
A thought suddenly occurred to Dagen. "And how can we even know if she  
is successful?"  
  
Krycek reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small  
transmitter/receiver. "She has one of these. Both have an automatic  
alarm system." He lightly fingered the large red button in the center.  
"This button has to be pushed every 30 minutes, or else it triggers an  
alarm to go off in the other. If this one goes off, it means she ran  
into difficulties. If hers goes off, she will know something happened to  
me." Krycek looked at it for a moment longer before hitting the button  
and pocketing it again. "Relatively simple technology, but quite  
effective."  
  
"Tell me about Allen."  
  
Krycek looked at him, irritation written on his face. "Allen? What about  
him? I've already told you about him"  
  
"I want to know more about him. This is his plan after all. I need to  
know how he knows it'll work. I'm just as much a part of this as you  
are, and I deserve to know."  
  
"Are you?", was Krycek's only reply. They held eye contact, each  
carefully studying and appraising the other. Dagen was the first to look  
away. Only then did Krycek speak again. "I guess you are. After all, we  
wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. Scully wouldn't be in her  
present condition, and we would still have a good ten years before the  
invasion." His eyes narrowed. "Right?"  
  
Krycek's words could not have been more devastating if he had welded a  
lance and used it to pierce his heart. No, that would have been a better  
alternative, at least that way he would be out of his present misery.  
"I...it wasn't..." Dagen stammered, obviously shaken.  
  
Krycek leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his face, and  
watched guilt wash over his face. After a moment he spoke, saving Dagen  
from further explanation. "Why are you so interested? I told you that  
we were fighting against invasion. What else do you need to know?"  
  
"It's just... Well, I heard about the things that they do... the  
fires...."  
  
"And what about the things you were a part of? You tell me which is  
worse? The syndicate's methods or the resistance's?"  
  
Dagen didn't answer.  
  
The sardonic grin Krycek gave Dagen was triumphant, gloating,  
suggestive. Krycek laughed. "Just as I thought..."  
  
******  
South I-95  
Virginia  
8:30pm  
  
It had really been rather anti-climatic, their escape. There was no  
signs or hints that they had been seen. The unnamed road they traveled  
bordered numerous industrial complexes, many in the same state of  
abandonment as the first. In the 20 minutes or so of traveling, not a  
single car had passed.  
  
Scully had not said a word since she entered the car. Diana, thankfully,  
left her alone. So much to get organized in her head. Ok, obviously  
she'd been taken again, for what reason, it was not yet clear. God, had  
she really said two weeks? More time simply stolen from her life. Under  
each eye, a tear clung defiantly to her lashes. "NOT, in front of  
her."And Mulder...and...oh god! Her mother! Her poor mother. "I'm so  
sorry to put you through all of this again." A tear slipped, and she  
turned to face the dark outside. She welcomed the darkness. There was so  
much she didn't want to see. Scully closed her eyes.  
  
Scully could feel Diana next to her. Her outward appearance displayed  
the confidence of a women in control of the world, but Scully could find  
the fear in her. Rather, the fear found Scully. It filled the tiny space  
of the car and Scully could feel it being added to her own. The tension  
rolled off Diana in waves and she was caught in the torrent.  
  
No, not waves, not that slow. It was heartbeats. Heart pumping  
rhythmically and with a great force. But it wasn't pumping blood, no, it  
was fear. Diana was pumping fear into the small confines of the car.  
Scully gasped for air as the fear bore into her and she felt her own  
heart rate increase to match Diana's. Her tension was infusing her, and  
nearly filled her to breaking.  
  
What the hell was going on?  
  
Scully closed her eyes and mentally erected a shield against the  
onslaught. The beats changed, became irregular before finally stopping  
all together. She could breathe again and she took in oxygen greedily.  
  
What was Diana so terrified of? This, Scully needed to find out. "What  
is going on? Why have you done this for me?"  
  
"You weren't ever supposed to be taken again. I'm simply correcting a  
mistake that has been made." Eyes were carefully avoided.  
  
"And just who was it that took me? How do you know these people?"  
Scully's voice began to change; she spoke in an accusatory tone.  
  
"I used to work with them, but I suspect that you already knew that." A  
pause as she met Scully's eye. Scully found no satisfaction in her  
admittance. Diana continued. "I worked with them and I came to know them  
as well as their plans for you. I believe that they were... misguided,  
and now I'm doing what I can to fix the problem."  
  
"And why now? Something tells me that your *association* with this group  
did not happen recently."  
  
"I had the chance to fix--" She stopped, and corrected herself. "Up  
until now, I believed in what was being done, that there was no other  
way. When I found out that I was mistaken, I acted."  
  
"Out of the goodness of your heart, I'm sure." Scully muttered under her  
breath.  
  
There was a long pause before Diana spoke again. "Look, no matter what  
you may think you know you don't know the whole truth. You can judge me,  
blame me, but I believe that what was done was absolutely necessary for  
our survival."  
  
"Necessary for whose survival?" Scully's voice began to rise and to take  
on a shrillness that made herself cringe, but she didn't care. "The  
women that were taken? The women whose lives were destroyed by the  
things so casually done to them?"  
  
Diana's lips flattened to a hard line. "I didn't rescue you to discuss  
this. I will not defend my actions."  
  
Scully stared at the impassive form of the woman next to her. If she  
didn't know the fear that was in her, Scully would have been certain the  
woman not capable of that emotion. "Know? I don't really 'know,' do I?  
It can't be possible..."But her inner voice lacked force. She trusted  
Diana, at least in this moment, that she was doing what was best. And  
why did she trust her?  
  
"Because I read her mind."  
  
And Scully knew, she 'knew,' that this was true.  
  
Scully could feel hysteria knocking at her door. She began to laugh.  
  
The laugh began as a half-vocalized chuckle under her breath, but  
quickly became much more. Bordering on hysterical, Scully's shrill laugh  
both surprised and frightened her and caused Diana to glanced worriedly  
at her. "Are you... What is so funny?"  
  
"I believe you," she was able to spit out before the rest of her words  
were lost in a mass of giggles. A half-minute passed before Scully could  
form intelligible words past her betraying mouth. She wiped the tears  
from her eyes as the last of the mirthless laugh disappeared. She felt  
suddenly empty, as if she'd given blood.  
  
"I was just thinking," good, she had regained control of her voice,  
"that this is *not* what I wanted to be when I grow up."  
  
Diana was still worried. She chose her words carefully. "What didn't you  
want to be?"  
  
"A mind reader."  
  
"Oh." There didn't seem to be anything appropriate to say to that  
comment. So Diana chose the first thing that came to her mind. "You  
know, I always wanted to be a firefighter when I grew up."  
  
"Serious?" Scully asked, dabbing the tears from her eyes with the corner  
of her shirt.  
  
Diana nodded. "I always thought it was so brave and dramatic. I remember  
when I was young going to an awards ceremony for my uncle. He was a  
firefighter, and he saved a little girl from a fire. A girl that was  
about my age." She smiled at the memory. "I remember thinking that he  
was so brave. He went into the burning building after her when he  
discovered that she'd been left behind. By the time he found her, she  
was unconscious and he took off his own oxygen mask and gave it to her.  
He ended up staying in the hospital for weeks with burns in his lungs,  
but the little girl was fine. When I saw him on the stage, when I saw  
the mayor give him his award, I wanted it to be me."  
  
Diana had not looked at Scully the entire time she told the story, but  
she looked now. Scully was smiling, but she had a slightly puzzled look  
on her face. Diana felt embarrassment flare through her. "The things  
that you think when you're a kid."  
  
"I wanted to be a fighter pilot."  
  
Diana's eyebrows raised slightly. "Really?"  
  
"My father was a captain in the Navy and I didn't see him that much. I  
figured that when I grew up I could fly the planes that landed on his  
ship, and I could see him everyday, and at night I could fly home to see  
my mom." The two women smiled.  
  
Diana turned back to the road, and her smile disappeared. "It is funny  
how life turns out." There was no humor in her voice.  
  
"Yes it is."  
  
"Fate can be a cruel mistress sometimes."  
  
The mention of fate startled Scully. She and Mulder had just spoken of  
it the other night. "No, not the other night. That was two weeks  
ago." She felt the pang that came with the missing time as she  
corrected herself. Out loud she asked, "You believe in fate?"  
  
"To a certain extent. Life sometimes feels far too contrived without it.  
What is it that they say about fate? It deals the cards, but it is up to  
us how we play them?"  
  
"That is what they say." Scully agreed.  
  
"And we try to chose the best course, try to make the best possible  
decision from the choices given to us."  
  
Their eyes met briefly, and Scully slowly nodded, showing that she was  
beginning to understand. "I think that we all try to make the best  
choices."  
  
Diana held the gaze a moment longer before turning her attention back to  
the empty road ahead of them. She seemed to be contemplating something.  
  
Scully felt the seat belt tighten across her chest as Diana abruptly hit  
the brakes. The car briefly skidded several feet, the tires unable to  
fully grip from the deceleration. "What?" Scully asked alarmed. "Is  
there something wrong?"  
  
"Not any more." The car began to move again as Diana made a sharp U-turn  
and headed back in the direction they had just came. "I was about to  
make the wrong choice, but not any more."  
  
******  
Richmond, Virginia  
8:50pm  
  
Silence. Dagen had finally shut the fuck up. God, he hated working with  
those damn scientist types, they always had to know every damn thing.  
  
Time was passing at an infinitesimal rate. Every time he glanced at his  
watch he thought that at least ten minutes had past, when in reality it  
had only been a tenth of that. Hated waiting; absolutely hated it. And  
she was late. Not late enough to be worried, but late enough to cause  
some... 'concern.' In five minutes he would worry.  
  
He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out the receiver, to  
check in once again, seeking its reassurance. Working fine, and it  
hadn't gone off, so everything should still be going well. His thumb  
caressed the button momentarily before he hit it himself.  
  
He looked away from the receiver and stared without seeing through the  
windshield to people outside. They were the common folk, no worries more  
pressing that what to fix for dinner, or which condoms to pick up-  
ribbed or non-ribbed? He noticed a small group of adolescence boys  
outside the entrance. For them, their biggest worry was over whose fake  
ID would be most likely to get them a pack of beer.  
  
Krycek glanced at his wrist. In four minutes he would worry. Damn it!  
Damn her and her plan. She had insisted on doing it her way, that it was  
the only way, but she only did it to be in control.  
  
Dagen said that he believed her, he trusted Diana to get this done. He'd  
been the one to convince Krycek to use her to get Scully. And why the  
hell did he trust Dagen? Krycek looked to the squirming man sitting next  
to him Dagen nervously shifted uneasily and glanced behind the car.  
"Just a lab rat. As if he could be capable of telling a lie." No,  
Dagen was hardly a worry. Besides, Allen had personally picked him and  
said he was to be trusted.  
  
Another glance. Three minutes and he would worry.  
  
Krycek could still remember that moment he'd first seen Allen, three  
years ago.  
  
It had been an intense feeling of warmth had awakened him in the cold  
Russian forest. The warmth had begun in his left arm and had moved  
rapidly through his shoulder to the rest of his chilled body.  
  
When Krycek had opened his eyes, he had been positive that he was seeing  
an angel. He, Krycek, a man who had not believed in miracles, or a God,  
or anything of that nature for over twenty years, was absolutely  
positive he was witnessing a miracle.  
  
The sun was directly overhead and beams of light filtered through the  
forest and seemed to cast a halo around Allen's black hair. Krycek then  
heard the words that changed his life. In his mind, Krycek heard the  
voice. "You'll be the one that helps me. But first, you sleep. You'll  
be fine." Krycek fell asleep immediately, the pain and the frigidity  
of the Russian winter no longer bothering him.  
  
Krycek awoke at dark and found the man who had healed him sitting across  
a fire and could have sworn he was dreaming. Allen sat cross-legged near  
the fire, whittling a small stick with a knife. "Sorry I couldn't save  
your arm," he paused and motioned to a large black dog sitting next to  
him, gnawing on some meat, "but Pyka here got to it first."  
  
Pyka. Russian for arm. Krycek realized with a sickening sensation just  
what kind of meat the dog was eating with such gusto. He had to turn  
away. "Where did the others go? Did they just leave me here to die?"  
Krycek asked, his eyes closed.  
  
Allen shook his head, his long dark hair smoothly sliding over his  
shoulders. "They didn't seem to like the way I looked when I first  
arrived. I think that Pyka here was far too distracted to be afraid of  
me." As he spoke he began to change. His body grew, became more stocky.  
His face also began to shift, to lighten from its deep tan to pale  
white, as the forehead and chin widened to form a more hard look. His  
long black hair shortened and lightened as well into a near blond.  
  
Krycek recognized the face as well, and could understand the people's  
fear because he felt it himself. He was facing the bounty hunter. Allen  
spoke again. "I understand now, why they were afraid." Allen looked  
thoughtfully at Krycek. "You do not need to be afraid of me. I am not  
the man you fear. This is simply the form that we all take for any  
interactions with your kind. I don't much like it myself." His form  
changed again, once more to the one of before. Krycek guessed his form  
matched that of an Native American descent.  
  
"But you are one of them, aren't you?"  
  
"I'm not one of them, at least not any more." Allen's distaste was  
clear.  
  
"Why did you save me?"  
  
"I need your help."  
  
Krycek had been full of disbelief. How could someone with his obvious  
powers need his help? "My help? For what exactly?"  
  
Allen smiled, the firelight dancing on his face. "You will be a great  
help to me."  
  
Krycek shook himself free from the memory. Two minutes.  
  
Yes, Allen had needed help. He sent Krycek all over the world, getting  
the people Allen sent him to get. Getting the supplies, the buildings,  
damn near everything it seemed. Krycek was Allen's link to the outside  
world. Allen would have been useless without Krycek, but it was always  
Allen's show, and Krycek never really knew exactly what was happening,  
but Allen always protected him. He'd been the one to warn Krycek of the  
toasting the Consortium attended those short weeks ago.  
  
Things were defiantly coming to ahead in the past few weeks. The list of  
duties had been long, and Krycek didn't have a long time to complete all  
of them.  
  
One minute.  
  
Get Dagen. Check. Kill the smoking man. Check. Mulder had taken care of  
that for him.  
  
He paused. Mulder. Something tickled in the back of his head. Something  
about Mulder...but it was lost. Krycek moved on.  
  
And most importantly get Scully. She was the key, that much he knew.  
Allen was always careful to give Krycek enough discretion on what would  
be the best way to complete his objectives. As long as they got done  
that was all that really mattered.  
  
But this time Krycek wished that Allen had given him more direction. He  
didn't like using Diana on this, he didn't have Allen's assurance that  
she could be trusted.  
  
He looked at his watch one final time. No time left. Now he was  
officially worried. Where the hell was she? And then the tickling in the  
back of his mind came back, along with her words. "Did you locate  
him?...There will be time." And then Krycek knew why he was worried and  
why she was late.  
  
He turned the engine on with one smooth motion and pulled the car out of  
the lot and into the street. Dagen sat next to him, struggling to get  
the seatbelt fastened. "What the hell are you doing? We are supposed to  
meet them here."  
  
Krycek spoke through gritted teeth. "She has gone to get him. The  
fucking bitch has gone to get him."  
  
* * * * * * 


	9. 9

North I-95  
Virginia  
9:03pm  
  
* * * * * *  
Show me a hero, and I'll show you a tragedy. --F. Scott Fitgerald  
* * * * * *  
  
Diana could feel Scully studying her profile as she drove. She stole a  
look and briefly met Scully's eyes. How much did she know? How much  
could she pick up? Diana suspected quite a bit if she wanted to. After  
all, that was one of the main criteria of why she was chosen, because of  
her latent psychic abilities.  
  
Even though she suspected Scully knew her thoughts, Diana still felt an  
obligation of sorts to explain. "You're good for him, you know." She  
said, breaking the silence.  
  
"What do you mean?" Scully half stammered.  
  
A sideways glance. Her voice softened; took on an almost wistful tone.  
"Mulder. You're good for him. You keep him grounded, balanced. He truly  
is a better person because of you. Anyone could see that it was never  
like that with us. I envy you that."  
  
Scully seemed to ignore the comment, and instead asked, "Where are we  
going Diana?"  
  
She smiled and looked away from Scully and back to the road. "We are  
going to get him."  
  
"And we weren't before." It was not a question, Scully already knew.  
What a wonderful gift telepathy was.  
  
"No, we weren't. It wasn't part of the plan. But I can't..." Her voice  
wavered briefly. " I can't... Look, there will likely be some  
repercussions following all of this," she indicated their current  
situation with her hand, "and I would hate for him to have to deal with  
them on his own."  
  
"But this wasn't part of the original plan. You are putting us at risk  
by doing this." These were statements of fact. There was no hint of  
accusation or anger. Scully's tone was carefully neutral. "Why are you  
risking yourself like this? There is a very real danger by doing this,  
am I right?"  
  
Diana smiled to herself, then looked to Scully. "Agent Scully, why do  
you do what you do for him? Why have you stayed with him all of this  
time? Why do you continually risk your life for him?" These were  
rhetorical questions. They both knew why, it was obvious.  
  
A long pause and silence reigned. It didn't need to be said, but Diana  
spoke anyway. "Fox is certainly not an easy man to love," Another  
sideways glance. "Is he?"  
  
Scully looked up to Diana's eyes, "No, he isn't." Diana held her gaze  
for a moment. Then she slowly nodded.  
  
* * * * * *  
George Washington Parkway  
10:05pm  
  
Another glance at his watch. "Shit!" Krycek said, and exerted an  
increasing amount of downward force on the accelerator.  
  
*****  
Outside Scully's Apartment Building  
10:19pm  
  
Scully looked up in surprise as the familiar brick building came into  
view. "He's here?"  
  
"Yes. There was an incident at his apartment. I don't think he wanted to  
go back there." Diana placed the car in park, but left the engine  
running and turned expectantly to Scully. "He's up there. You need to  
get him as quickly as you can."  
  
"What about--" Scully began before Diana interrupted. "I'm not the one  
he wants to see now. I'll be waiting here for both of you. Hurry."  
  
******  
East I-66, Washington DC  
  
"Damn it Krycek! Tell me what the hell is going on. Who are you  
muttering about?" Dagen asked, his hand gripping the dashboard in front  
of him, trying to support himself as the car took another sharp corner.  
  
Krycek didn't even bother to look in his direction. He practically  
growled his words. "Mulder. The bitch has gone to get him and in the  
process royally fucked everything up."  
  
"Mulder." Dagen knew that name. Hell, everyone knew that name. He  
was a legend. A legend for screwing things up. "Why is she doing this?  
Doesn't she know what his influence will be?"  
  
"Oh she knows, she knows him rather well from what I understand. But  
she doesn't seem to care. Damn women! Always thinking with their soft  
ass hearts!" He punctuated his comment by hitting his balled up fist  
against the steering wheel.  
  
******  
Outside Scully's Apartment Building  
9:20pm  
  
A bounty hunter watched as the car pulled up with the two women. He knew  
who each was; he had been waiting for their arrival. Ever since they had  
discovered that Scully had disappeared he had been sent to watch Mulder.  
This was the obvious choice for her to show up. He watched as Scully  
stepped out of the car and disappeared through the lobby door.  
  
Strange, the figure's face wrinkled in mild confusion, he couldn't read  
her thoughts and he had always been able to before...He dismissed the  
idea quickly and moved to the other woman. He would have enough time  
later to figure it out  
  
The other woman was Diana Fowley. He recognized her mind and was  
surprised to find her here. The last time he had 'contact' with her,  
there'd been no indication of this plan. It must have been a recent  
development. He paused as he carefully searched her thoughts. Yes, yes  
this had been quite recent. And she had been such a good worker. It  
really was almost a shame.  
  
And why had she done it? His mind struggled as he tried to grasp the  
concepts in her mind. Redemption? Hope?... Love?  
  
He shrugged the words away. He would never understand humans. They would  
do the most ridiculous and irrational things because of simple words.  
  
He pulled the gun from the holster, tightened his coat tightly around  
him, and walked across the street, heading directly for the parked car.  
  
******  
9:21pm  
  
Diana watched Scully enter the building via the rearview mirror. She  
prayed that Krycek's information had been correct, that Mulder was in  
fact here. The thought of Krycek, reminded her of something. She reached  
into her coat pocket for the transmitter/receiver and pushed the button.  
She knew that she was late and that he would be pissed, but at least he  
would know that they were ok.  
  
"Come on Scully... No time for dawdling." She nervously adjusted the  
mirror, trying to get a better view of the front door. She had just  
taken her eyes off the mirror when a motion in it caught her attention.  
  
She turned her head rapidly to look behind her to see what was there.  
  
There was nothing.  
  
She turned back around.  
  
And she saw it again. Just within her line of vision he stood. He was  
inches away, only the glass on the driver's side window separated them.  
  
"I've made a horrible mistake."  
  
And her world collapsed.  
  
******  
Scully's Apartment  
  
Scully entered the apartment through her unlocked door. She found him  
asleep on her sofa, curled tightly into a ball at one end, is eyes shut  
tight, face stiff with tension. She walked around the couch and moved  
aside a bottle of prescription pills that was on the coffee table and  
sat down on the hard wood next to him.  
  
His forehead was furrowed, the lines reaching deep into his otherwise  
smooth skin. She reached her hand out to grab his shoulder, to stir him  
awake but couldn't help but bring her fingertip to try to smooth out the  
lines. As her fingertips found his brow and she lightly ran her index  
finger across his skin, all of the tension dissolved from his face and  
he sighed contently. His worry lines, some new she noticed, were almost  
completely smoothed out.  
  
Scully kept her hand on Mulder's temple lightly running her fingers  
through his hair and with the other picked up the bottle she had moved.  
Dalmane, a powerful sleep aid. Left over from his horrid experience a  
few years ago when he had let a doctor drill into his head. He hadn't  
slept well after that, and she had insisted that he go and get something  
so he could sleep.  
  
Mulder tried it for only one night. He had complained to her that he  
didn't like the feeling of missing time, of the utter disconnection it  
gave him from the rest of the world. He said that he would rather be  
awake for days and feel tired instead of being rested, but feeling  
nothing.  
  
What had made him start taking them now?  
  
Panic flared through Scully. He wouldn't have... Her hand left Mulder  
and went to unscrew the lid. How many were left? The white pills gleamed  
menacingly in her hand. There were eight. The prescription was for ten.  
She sighed, relived. It was fine. How could she have even thought that  
he would just take them all?  
  
"Scully!" The terror filled cry was deafening in her ears. She looked  
back to Mulder. His face was no longer smooth. It was instead the  
tortured features that fit one who had journeyed through the outer  
reaches of hell, but not back. He brought his legs up to his chest and  
wrapped his arms tightly around them, curled into the smallest ball  
possible. His hands clutched each other so tightly that his hands were  
beginning blanch white. He was sleeping still, but also talking.  
"...No...please...Scully stay... leave her alone!...stay... don't  
go...Scully"  
  
Instinct took over and she dropped to her knees in front of him and  
bought her arms up to encircle his shoulders. Her touch had an immediate  
calming effect, almost as pronounced as if a powerful sedative had been  
administered directly into his veins. "It's ok Mulder, I'm here. You'll  
be fine. I can help you..." She didn't know exactly what she was saying  
but she continued murmuring in his ear.  
  
"Scully..." No longer a cry, but still painful to hear, her name was  
strangled in his throat. Her name...he was calling out for her... Scully  
brought her hand and cupped his cheek. A mild vertigo overcame her and  
the room seemed to turn like a carousel. "Muld--" she began.  
  
That was all she was able to get out.  
  
******  
Krycek hit the brakes hard and the tires squealed in protest. Another  
damn light. They were only blocks away yet it may have well been a  
hundred. Just a few more minutes...  
  
Green light. Krycek pressed the accelerator hard and the car bucked  
forward like a bronco charging out of the chute. Just a few more minutes  
and they would be there...  
  
******  
Scully's Apartment  
9:22pm  
  
-Flash-  
  
Dark crowded behind Scully's eyelids as it came into her. The dark was  
insidious; it came up her nose and into her eyes, damp fingers of dark  
forcing its way inside her.  
  
Her fingers raked over her face as she tried to tear it off but it hung  
on tenaciously. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't see, and panic was  
beginning to take control.  
  
And she felt strong hands grab her own and her vision cleared. She  
looked up into Mulder's beaming face. "I found you." The glee in his  
voice was infectious and she couldn't help but return the smile.  
  
"They tried to take you from me, to hide you under this." He held up  
a black sheet. Was that what was smothering her earlier?  
  
"But they couldn't hide you from me. Your light was too much for them  
to hide and I could find you." Scully glanced down at herself. She was  
glowing. The rest of the room was utter blackness. She was the only  
brightness in the room.  
  
"Mulder, what is this? Where are we? Can you tell me that?" He  
didn't acknowledge her questions. Instead, he simply smiled at her and  
lightly tugged on her hand. "Come on Scully, follow me."  
  
She took a step and she was at a beach, the waves crashing rhythmically  
against the sand as the tide came in. "You like the beach right? You  
mentioned once that you like the ocean." He smiled even wider. "I  
remember everything you say." He pulled her gently on her hand until  
they were walking side by side, hand in hand amongst the crashing waves.  
  
"It is so nice here, why did you leave before? You won't leave me  
again, will you?" He pleaded, his most winsome smile on his lips.  
"We were having such a nice time before."  
  
"I'm sure we were..." said slowly and carefully. "But first I need  
to figure out what is going on. Where are we Mulder? How did we get to  
the beach?"  
  
Confusion flashed over his eyes. "I don't know. Did you bring me  
here?"  
  
"No." And then it hit her. "Mulder, I think that this is your  
dream."  
  
He considered her comment thoughtfully. He nodded sadly. "I remember  
now." His voice cracked and he turned away from her. "I just wanted  
to forget for a little bit... but I guess that's not possible."  
  
"Mulder, I'm back. I am back and I'm with you in my living room."  
  
"No, I don't believe that. You can't be in both places at once. If you  
were the real Scully and not just a wonderful figment of my imagination  
you would know this."  
  
This was not working. "Mulder, I have to go now."  
  
He spun around to face her. "No! Please don't leave. You can't leave  
me alone here." The beach was gone and the blackness back. "It's so  
dark without you...please, please Scully." He desperately clung to her  
hand as he pleaded with her.  
  
"I'm sorry. But you'll understand." Scully broke away from him,  
gasping slightly, her mind reeling and her thoughts in complete turmoil.  
She was beginning to feel as if she was never going to get solid ground  
beneath her feet.  
  
She was in her apartment again. "I just witnessed Mulder's dream. No.  
No, it can't be possible." She closed her mind to that possibility,  
shut him out. Her thoughts were interrupted by Mulder's cries.  
  
"Scully...why? Come back... so dark without you..." She pulled Mulder to  
her and began to speak softly. "Mulder, Mulder, wake up. I'm here with  
you, I'm ok. You're ok. It's ok, everything will be ok..." She  
continued administering to him, speaking softly, gently wiping the tears  
from his face. "This is real. This is really happening to us. How is  
this possible? What strange parallel universe have we fallen into?"  
  
******  
The bounty hunter moved away from the car and sheathed his gun. He  
turned and began to make his way up the front steps.  
  
******  
Mulder didn't open his eyes for several moments after he had regained  
consciousness. He thought at first it was merely a twisted continuation  
of his dream but slowly he realized the blessed truth.  
  
Scully was back, alive, and he was in her arms. He sat up quickly, his  
dreams forgotten. Scully was not prepared for this sudden movement and  
would have been unceremoniously dumped on the floor if Mulder hadn't  
held her at her waist as he rose. Standing there at that moment, holding  
her close, Mulder felt a wave of affection and love wash over him that  
nearly dropped him to his knees. Mulder pulled her into his arms and  
nearly crushed her with the force of his hug and the relief behind it.  
Scully held on just as tight. "How? How can this be? This can't be  
real, but it feels so damn good." Fresh tears began to form.  
  
She was pulling away, why was she pulling away? "Scully?"  
  
She pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. "We have to get out of  
here Mulder. We're in serious danger."  
  
"What do you mean? Tell me what is happening Scully. How did you even  
get here?"  
  
"I'll tell you everything on the way." She fully disengaged her body  
from him but held onto his hand. She began to lead him to the door. "You  
have to trust me on this... I don't have time to explain it all right  
now."  
  
Mulder was still hesitant. This was happen far to quickly. Not less that  
2 minutes ago he was convinced he would never see her again and now...  
An evil idea came into his head, so unpleasant that he was reluctant to  
even put it into words. "Is this really Scully? Could it be someone  
else, something else?"  
  
His doubt loomed almost tangibly. Scully felt his hesitation and turned  
to face him. "Mulder, it's me." She looked up to meet his eyes. There  
was an iridescence to the blue irises, a silver glow. It was as if  
instead of just merely reflecting light, it was an actual source. Mulder  
blinked slowly, and the impression disappeared.  
  
She was speaking again. "You said once that I've saved you, let me save  
you now. Mulder, you have to trust me now. Do you trust me, don't you?"  
  
Mulder felt shame. Shame and guilt for his doubt and hesitation. "Of  
course Scully. I'll always--"  
  
Mulder never got to finish.  
  
******  
Outside Scully's Apartment Building  
9:23pm  
  
Dagen had barely unhooked his seat belt before Krycek had leaped out of  
the car. Dagen hurried to catch up.  
  
Krycek ran past a car that sat immediately in front of the building and  
pulled himself up short. "Shit!" He only paused for a moment before  
continuing, running even faster this time.  
  
A second later Dagen passed the car, and he too paused. Blood and tissue  
and bone fragments were splattered on the inside of glass, so thick that  
he could barely see inside. But he saw enough. Through the round hole  
the bullet made as it passed through the glass before it passed through  
Diana's head, he could see her dark hair, now stained a deep maroon.  
  
By the time he looked up from the car, Krycek had already entered the  
building. Dagen hurried to catch up again.  
  
******  
  
When the bounty hunter burst through the Scully's door, it was as if a  
glass ball had shattered to let air and the world in. They'd just began  
to head for the door, Scully leading Mulder by his hand, when the sudden  
noise tore them apart.  
  
Scully saw what happened next as if she were merely an observer looking  
in. The figure stood in the doorway. Without a word he raised his gun  
and pointed it at Mulder.  
  
Mulder had had his back to the door and he didn't see what she did. It  
took him a half-second before he could turn around. A half-second that  
he didn't have. Scully saw the situation before he did, and without  
hesitation she pushed him to the floor just as the bounty hunter fired  
his weapon.  
  
Scully looked down at Mulder lying on the floor. "God, is he hurt?  
Please, please God, not like this. Be ok, be ok Mulder."  
  
She approached him, unthinking. There was no blood and he had sat up. He  
was ok. "He was ok. Thank God."  
  
But her momentary relief was brief as she looked into Mulder's horror  
stricken eyes. It was then that she discovered that she had been the one  
to get shot. She realized then that while she had felt the bullet hit  
her, she felt no other sensation. "Something is terribly wrong here.  
This is not like last time." She slowly dropped her eyes, reluctantly  
moving them down. She had to know; yet feared that knowledge. As her  
eyes finally met the wound, she saw that instead of seeing the expected  
red of blood, she saw a noxious green fluid.  
  
Scully's look of terror matched Mulder's as she looked to him, the  
intruder forgotten. "My god Mulder, what does this mean?" But she knew,  
as did Mulder. "I've been changed."  
  
Mulder tried to rise to his feet, but before he could, the toxic fumes  
began to have their affect. He stumbled to his knees as he brought his  
hands to his face. The doctor in Scully began to approach him. She  
realized her mistake as his symptoms began to worsen. "It is me. I am  
doing this to him. I'm killing him!" She moved to the opposite side of  
the room. "Mulder! Mulder, can you answer me?" Panic colored her voice.  
  
Scully met his tortured eyes once more, and then he was lost to  
unconsciousness.  
  
The intruder had not moved since the single shot had been fired. He  
looked to Mulder, saw that he was no longer a threat, and calmly put his  
gun away.  
  
Scully turned her attention to the intruder. Her wound now healed, she  
asked, "What do you want from us?" Anger and fear were equally  
represented in her voice.  
  
"You need to come with me." That was all he said. He reached his hand  
into his pocket and slowly pulled out his weapon. He hit the switch, and  
with a "phitt" the stiletto extended.  
  
Scully could feel the cold fear as it flooded her. He began to advance.  
  
* * * * * * 


	10. 10

9:24pm  
  
* * * * * *  
You're an extraordinary woman; how do you expect  
to lead an ordinary life?-- Louisa May Alcott  
* * * * * *  
  
Krycek could hear nothing. After the single chirp of a silencer he  
hadn't heard a sound. He pulled out the stiletto weapon from his inside  
jacket pocket. He always carried one.  
  
He slowed as he approached the open door, not knowing what to expect.  
  
The bounty hunter's back was to him as Krycek looked in the room. He  
couldn't see Mulder anywhere, but he could see Scully clearly. She was  
slowly backing away from the bounty hunter.  
  
Krycek met her eyes. She hid her surprise well; there was only the  
briefest widening of her eyes. He brought a finger to his lips, then  
held up his weapon.  
  
She understood. She looked away from Krycek. "Tell me what you want. Why  
are you here?" She asked again, trying to keep the bounty hunter  
distracted.  
  
Krycek moved in. The bounty hunter began to speak, "I told you. You  
need--", but he broke himself off. He abruptly spun around to face  
Krycek and his raised weapon.  
  
Krycek suddenly found himself airborne. He metered across the room and  
slammed into the far wall with the sound of a wet sack of potatoes. He  
slid to the floor, stunned. Krycek had lost his grip on his weapon and  
he watched helplessly as it lazily spun on the floorboards across the  
room  
  
The bounty hunter towered above him as Krycek lay on his back. Krycek  
tried to use his leverage as best as he could. He raised his legs forced  
them down square onto the bounty hunter' kneecaps. It hardly seemed to  
phase him.  
  
Instead of bringing him down to the floor, as Krycek hoped, it merely  
caused the figure to lose his balance slightly. The bounty hunter  
stumbled and leaned forward to help regain his balance.  
  
That was all he did, but that was enough.  
  
Scully had advanced unnoticed and she took advantage of the bounty  
hunter's distraction. She'd picked up the fallen weapon and without  
hesitation drove it into the neck of her assailant. The force she used  
easily brought him to his knees.  
  
The figure grimaced and futilely tried to stop her but was unsuccessful.  
She withdrew the stiletto from his neck as the body began to dissolve.  
Krycek quickly moved out of the way as the body slammed into the floor.  
  
******  
9:25pm  
  
"Grab him." These were the first words out of Krycek's mouth when Dagen  
finally arrived. Krycek stood rubbing his shoulder, wincing painfully,  
and motioned to Mulder lying on the floor. "Could have used your help  
you know."  
  
Dagen ignored his comment and walked over to Mulder. Scully was crouched  
over him, doing her best to assess his situation. She didn't look up  
when Dagen knelt beside her. "We have to get both of you out of here."  
  
"I have my own ride."  
  
"Diana's dead." There was no real response from Scully. She didn't seem  
surprised. "This was why she wasn't supposed to get him." it was not a  
question, and Dagen didn't respond.  
  
"He needs medical aid first." She said  
  
"We can treat him, but we need to get out of here."  
  
To punctuate Dagen's comment, Krycek chose that moment to yell, "Come  
on! Dagen, just grab him so we can get the hell out of here."  
  
"I don't know you, and I certainly don't trust him," she motioned to  
Krycek, now standing in the doorway keeping a lookout. "I can't just  
blindly follow you."  
  
Dagen felt completely helpless. "If-- there really isn't anything I can  
say or do right now to show you that we are here to help you. If there  
was..."  
  
Scully met his eyes and he felt as if she were looking deep within him.  
"She probably is. She should he displaying some of those abilities by  
now." Eyes as sharp as boning knives. Afraid they would see too much,  
he avoided looking straight into them.  
  
"I think that there is a way. May I?" She held up her hand. Warily, he  
nodded yes.  
  
She reached her hand and cupped his face. Her hand felt ice cold against  
his cheek.  
  
-Flash-  
  
What the hell was that? There was a flash of bright light for a second,  
but it disappeared. Scully removed her hand and stood up. "Like you  
said, we have to get out of here." She held her hand out to Dagen and  
helped him stand. Together they grabbed Mulder.  
  
******  
George Washington Parkway  
9:33pm  
  
Scully sat in the back of the car with Dagen; Mulder sat between the  
two. She watched as he reached down to the floor of the car and grab a  
bag. From it, he pulled a syringe and a vial. Carefully measuring the  
dose, he pulled the needle from the vial and turned to Mulder. Lifting  
up his sleeve, he injected the substance into his arm.  
  
"This should help counter act the side effects of his exposure." He  
briefly looked Scully in the eye, before sliding his gaze away. "He is  
hiding something. He isn't telling me everything. But he will not hurt  
us."  
  
"What are you hiding?" She asked, point blank.  
  
Dagen lifted his eyes to meet Krycek's in the rearview mirror. When  
Krycek nodded slightly, Dagen spoke. "His body is having a type of  
hypersensitivity reaction to the exposure. What I have given him will  
help his body tolerate it."  
  
"A hypersensitivity reaction to what exactly?"  
  
He hesitated. "To the DNA that you now have within you."  
  
Scully's pale skin became even whiter as the color drained from her  
cheeks. "What are you talking about? What do you mean by this?"  
  
"You've been changed, surely you've realized this."  
  
Scully closed her eyes tightly, and asked the question she didn't want  
to know the answer to. "What have I been changed into?"  
  
"Something..." Dagen paused, he couldn't seem to find the right words,  
"something more than human. I don't...I don't really have a better way  
of saying it really. I'm sorry."  
  
Scully took a slow breath before speaking again. "Who did this to me?  
Why would they do this?"  
  
Krycek spoke. "The tattered remains of the consortium. A few old men  
clinging to the past and trying one last desperate ploy to ensure their  
survival."  
  
"And what is this?" She said gesturing to the car around them,  
indicating the situation they were in.  
  
He smiled, without humor. "This is our own desperate ploy, of course."  
  
******  
9:41pm  
  
Scully's arm was in the process of going numb, but she didn't care. She  
was gently supported Mulder with one arm, and with her other hand she  
lightly brushed the hair from his forehead.  
  
She looked up in surprise when a high pitched chirping sound erupted  
from Krycek. She watched as he reached into his pocket and pulled out  
what was making the noise.  
  
Without a word, he rolled down his window and tossed the device out into  
the night.  
  
******  
Resistance Headquarters  
11:46pm  
  
Krycek pulled the car into a compound, isolated from the rest of the  
world by a thick forest. The compound was modeled after a military base;  
it was well blockaded and heavily armed guards abounded.  
  
Krycek stepped out quickly and barked at one of the guards. "We need  
some help here. We have a man injured." Only a second or two passed  
before they were met by a group of individuals and a gurney. They began  
to take Mulder away, with Dagen following closely, but Scully stopped  
them by physically blocking the entrance to the doorway. "I need to stay  
with him," she said sharply.  
  
Krycek placed his arm over hers in an attempt to move her out of the  
way. Looking down on her, he spoke. "He needs to be treated. The  
medication Dagen gave him in the car was only a temporary fix."  
  
Scully tossed his arm off of her, and stared him back. "And I said that  
I need to be with him." Krycek didn't flinch, and he didn't move away  
from her.  
  
"Look, we have to treat him, please let us through." Dagen pleaded.  
  
Ignoring Krycek, Scully turned to Dagen. He was a good man, although he  
felt a great guilt surrounding her. Perhaps she could use that to her  
advantage.  
  
"Look, after all I have gone through, after all the choices so  
indelicately removed from me, let me have this one. I need to be with  
him."  
  
Dagen looked at Krycek, an unsure look on his face. Irritated, Krycek  
gave in. "Do what ever the hell you want to do. Take her or don't, I  
really don't care. My job is finished." He walked away and left Dagen  
speaking nervously to Scully as she nearly dragged him over to the door.  
"Don't worry. We have some of the finest doctors here..." The rest was  
lost as Krycek rounded a corner.  
  
He opened one of the other entrances with a sweep of his code card  
through the scanner. This entrance led directly into the main  
headquarters, where the monitoring and the planning took place. That was  
where he found Allen.  
  
Allen was in the center of a small group, speaking quietly when he  
noticed Krycek's approach. Pyka also noticed and crossed the room to  
meet Krycek. Was the damn dog salivating? It seemed like it. When the  
dog began to aggressively lick Krycek's only other hand; he resisted the  
urge to kick the dog across the room. How he hated that dog. He wished  
with a deep passion that Allen would just get rid of the damn animal.  
  
Allen approached and he pulled the dog off of Krycek. "Come on girl, you  
know that uncle Krycek doesn't like it when you do that." The dog moved  
away reluctantly and sat down next to her master. She looked at Krycek,  
hunger in her eyes.  
  
"I wish you had better control of that damn dog. She does that every  
time."  
  
"She only does that with you. I guess you could say she has good taste."  
Before Krycek could respond, Allen glanced at his watch and said,  
"You're finally back."  
  
"This didn't go as well as we had planned. Mulder's with us. He's  
injured. Even unconscious his presence is already interfering. She  
insists on staying with him."  
  
"Perhaps it will be for the best."  
  
"*Perhaps*?" Krycek asked, incredulous. "I think that we should be far  
beyond the *perhaps* stage. Everything should be certain by now."  
  
"Are we treating him?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then he will be fine by morning. We would have given her that much time  
to adjust anyway. Nothing's delayed."  
  
"I don't think that you understand what I'm saying."  
  
"I don't?" Allen raised his eyebrows.  
  
Krycek had the feeling that Allen was mocking him. "No you don't. You  
seem to underestimate the control he exerts over her. If he doesn't want  
her to do what we need her to do..."  
  
"I think you underestimate both of them. They are both intelligent  
people. Once we tell them what they need to know, they'll make the right  
decision."  
  
******  
March 7, 1999  
Operating Room  
12:12am  
  
Scully felt like an animal trapped in a too tight cage. The urge to pace  
restlessly was strong, but she stilled the impulse. If she moved she  
would lose sight of Mulder, and she didn't intend losing sight of him  
ever again.  
  
She waited in the anteroom outside the operating room and peered  
through the small window. Well, perhaps operating room was a misnomer.  
An operation wasn't being conducted, but 'what' was being conducted was  
still unclear. Dagen was inside the room, supervising what ever was  
happening. He had told her to wait here (as if she would leave) and that  
someone would be by soon enough to answer some of her questions.  
  
So much had happen in such a short amount of time, her head reeled with  
the idea of it all. She looked at the clock on the wall. 12:12. When  
had all this started? Was it only four hours ago? It hardly seemed as if  
enough time had gone by, yet it also felt like it had been eons ago when  
Diana awakened her.  
  
Diana. She was dead; Scully felt her loss. Who would have imagined that  
just a few short weeks ago? "I guess that just shows how much has  
changed within these few hours." She didn't let herself dwell on the  
potential grief that Diana's passing could bring. Instead, she felt an  
overwhelming need for information. Why was she here? What had been done  
to her? Why? What was happening to Mulder?  
  
And, the question most pressing on her mind: What had happened to her?  
  
"Hell if I know." She spoke into the empty room.  
  
But she was lying to herself. She did know, at least she had an inkling.  
She had admitted it to herself, and Diana, earlier; hell she even had  
consciously used it to read Dagen to find out if he could be trusted.  
Physical contact afforded mind reading abilities, without it, simply  
empathic ones. And if she chose, she could sense nothing. She was  
learning quickly how it was done and how to control it.  
  
'It' being the mind reading of course.  
  
She hated that term. It just felt so false and pretentious somehow. If  
Mulder was awake now he would offer up many other words as  
substitutions. Clairvoyant, psychic, telepathic abilities, precognizant,  
extrasensory perception... she was sure that he could go on forever.  
  
Scully smiled. He would love this. Finally a case where she couldn't  
disprove him, no matter how much she wished she could. Her smile faded.  
How she wished this could go back to how they were before...  
  
Distracted by her own thoughts, Scully did not see nor feel the other  
person's entrance into the small room. Before she knew what was  
happening, Scully found herself enveloped in two strong arms. Scully had  
hardly gotten a chance to see the woman's face, but she could tell by  
her thoughts who it was. "thank god she is ok...so worried...looks  
better than i thought... how is she handling it... better than it did, I  
think... I hope this will all work... please god, let all of this  
work...she's such a wonderful women..."  
  
Out loud, Cassandra said, "Oh, it's so good to see you. I was worried  
about you when you hadn't arrived as expected."  
  
"Scully gently pealed away from her. "You knew I was coming? How?"  
  
"It was part of the plan. When we discovered what was happening to you,  
we knew we had to act."  
  
Scully was far too startled to really read Cassandra when they had  
hugged, and now that physical contact was broken, she could only feel  
Cassandra's excitement and clear pleasure at Scully's presence. Scully  
briefly considered grabbing her hand, but dismissed it quickly. It  
seemed like too much of a violation. The other times...well, Diana had  
initiated the first time, and with Dagen it had been an emergency, and  
with Mulder... well, that had been an accident.  
  
The thought of Mulder turned Scully's attention away from Cassandra, and  
back to the window. "Can you tell me how he is? Can you find out for  
me?"  
  
Cassandra stepped up to the window to gain a better look. "I wouldn't  
worry about him. They'll take good care of him. They're highly trained  
and are familiar with his condition. Also..." She hesitated, moved away  
from the window and turned to look at Scully. "They have healers here  
that can do what science can not."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"They have abilities. They can help the body use its own resources to  
fight the illness or heal the injury. Although... I don't think that  
Mulder will need much outside help."  
  
Scully felt... 'something' from that statement. She didn't have a word  
for it, it was so fleeting, but it had been there. Something more that  
what it seemed. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
Cassandra didn't seem to hear her. Concern filled her voice as she asked  
the next question. "How are you?"  
  
"Do you know what they did to me?" Scully had a feeling that she did.  
  
"They did the same thing to you that they did to me." Bitterness filled  
Cassandra's voice.  
  
"Can you tell me why? What purpose does it serve?"  
  
"It served their own selfish purposes." Cassandra spat out the words  
distastefully. But the emotion lasted only for a moment. A smile  
appeared on her lips with her next words. "But that isn't important now.  
The why isn't important because you will not be used for those  
purposes."  
  
"What do you mean *used*? I'm not going to let myself be *used* by  
anyone."  
  
She just smiled at Scully's alarm. "You misunderstand. No one will force  
you to do anything that you don't want to do. You will not have to do  
anything against your will. But I think, once you learn, and come to  
accept the truth, you'll understand the role that you must come to  
play."  
  
"My role?" Scully asked carefully.  
  
"Why yes." Cassandra's voice was completely sincere as she spoke the  
next words. "You represent the future. The future of mankind, as well as  
its savior."  
  
* * * * * * 


	11. 11

Ethiopia  
20 million years ago  
  
******  
Deterministically inclined astronomers are convinced by statistical  
Reasoning that what has happened on the earth must also have  
happened on planets of stars other than the sun. Biologists,  
impressed by the evolution of man, consider... "the prevalence of  
humanoids" exceedingly improbable. --Ernst Mayr  
  
******  
  
The animal was exploring. It was a young male, venturing off on its own  
away from the rest of the band. He was a curious animal by nature, and  
it did not take much to distract him. Moving away from the relative  
safety of the forest, he climbed out of a tree and began to approach the  
cleared area where the fire and noisy explosion had been.  
  
The ground was still smoldering from the intense flames of the previous  
day. The shattered remains of the meteorite littered the ground for  
several miles, leaving decimated trees and charred remains in its wake.  
  
The animal approached the edge of the charred ground and eyed the thing  
in front of him warily. The oil lay pooled on the blackened barren  
ground. The reflective nature of the oil had attracted him, but now he  
was beginning to feel uneasy. The smell of fire and smoke was still  
heavy in the air, and now it seemed as if the oil had moved of its own  
volition.  
  
He waited several moments; the oil remained motionless. Quickly  
forgetting his concern, the animal began to move even closer. Pausing  
just within arms length of the oil, he cautiously reached out to the  
substance. Pulling its hand back, the animal looked at the viscous fluid  
clinging to his fingers.  
  
The oil shattered and the tiny worm-like segments began their assent up  
the animal's body. The animal began to cry out as he felt the pinpricks  
of pain as each segment pierced the skin. The startled cry was abruptly  
cut short. The animal's eyes clouded over briefly.  
  
Although his cries had been interrupted, they had been enough to alert  
some of the members of the band, one of which was the animal's mother.  
Grunting with displeasure, the mother scurried out to her young.  
Sweeping him into her arms, she pulled him to her breast and he clinged  
to her as she hurried back to the forest and away from the openness of  
the desert.  
  
The child had already forgotten what had disturbed him.  
  
And mankind took his first step.  
  
* * * * * *  
March 7, 1999  
Resistance Headquarters  
Mulder's Room  
1:57am  
  
When Mulder woke up, he had the oddest sensation of dj vu, like a cool  
breeze from an unseen window. It was Scully's soft, soothing voice that  
first roused him, as well as her light touch on his forehead. "Mulder?  
Mulder, can you hear me?" He stirred and slowly opened his eyes.  
"Scully?" A soft voice, barely a whisper, called her name. "Scully is  
that you?" Hadn't this just happened?  
  
"Mulder? Are you awake? How do you feel?" She pulled a chair closer to  
the bed and sat down. Her eyes met his confused ones.  
  
He shook his head in confusion, trying his best to organize his  
thoughts. Didn't he just wake up? Or had that been a dream? "I feel  
like......... I don't know... how am I supposed to feel?" He shifted in  
the bed, and only then did he realize that they were no longer in her  
apartment. He was in a hospital type bed, but the rest of the room did  
not look like a hospital room. Aside from the bed, the rest of the room  
gave no hint as to where he could be. The room was sparsely furnished; a  
cheap looking dresser, mismatched nightstands and a single chair which  
Scully now occupied. He could be anywhere. "Where are we? How did we  
get here? What's going on?"  
  
"Do you remember what happened in my apartment?" She asked carefully.  
  
He smiled a lazy, loopy smile that stemmed from the narcotics and beamed  
up at her. "Of course. You came back to me. I missed you so much."  
  
She nodded slightly, and chose her next words carefully. "That did  
happen. Do you remember what happened after that?" She prompted.  
  
His forehead furrowed as he tried to think through the haze of  
medication. He blinks rapidly and she watches as his eyes clear, his  
mind following slowly behind. And then he remembered. And the lightness  
and joy in his eyes vanished. "The bounty hunter came. He tried to shoot  
me, but you pushed me out of the way." He smiled a thank you before  
continuing. "I didn't get hit, but you did. And instead of blood..." He  
stopped, unable to finish. Instead, he changed the subject. "How did we  
escape?" He paused as he considered something else. "How did you even  
get away in the first place?"  
  
"Diana."  
  
"Diana? Really?" If Mulder hadn't been fully awake before, he was now.  
Surprised flashed over his features.  
  
Scully smiled slightly. "Surprised me as well. She rescued me, and you."  
  
"What do you mean, me?"  
  
"She wasn't supposed to get you. 'Wasn't the plan.'" She paused now.  
  
Mulder could read that look. It was bad news. "What?"  
  
"She was killed." Mulder's face maintained its careful impassiveness.  
How should he feel about that? He didn't know. Things had ended so badly  
last time he had seen her, he never thought that he could feel anything  
toward her again. But if she really had saved Scully like Scully  
claimed...  
  
All of this flashed through his head in an instant. Scully was still  
speaking. "She died for you Mulder. You're not supposed to be here with  
me now, and you wouldn't be if it weren't for her. It was just me that  
they wanted."  
  
"Wanted for what? Do we even know? How can we even know if these people  
are any better than the others?"  
  
"They are." Another pause. She was having trouble finding the words. "I  
don't think that they'll hurt us, although no one has answered any of my  
questions to my satisfaction."  
  
"How can you know, though? As you say, they haven't answered your  
questions... we don't know anything about them..."  
  
She hesitated once again. Beats of silence and then she plunged.  
"Mulder, I have...I've been changed. I'm not quite the same as I once  
was."  
  
"I know." Mulder whispered.  
  
Scully shook her head. "No you don't, not all of it. It's not just..."  
She looked down to her abdomen. Mulder's eyes followed hers. She didn't  
finish.  
  
"But I do." He squeezed her hand tightly, then loosened. "A report was  
given to me. Diana actually. I know what they did to you."  
  
His comment distracted Scully from telling him her news. "What did they  
do to me? How did they change me?"  
  
Now it was he who hesitated. "They altered your genes."  
  
Fear filled the room. Fear of the unknown. Fear of her. Scully gasped  
from the strength of it, and it was a moment or two before she could  
concentrate enough to form the words to speak. "What are you saying?"  
  
If he noticed her reaction, he was kind enough to ignore it. "Genes were  
added." He watched as her eyes widened in fear and he hurried to finish.  
"Not foreign genes, your own. Your own introns were prevented from being  
removed."  
  
"Something more than human..." Scully softly echoed Dagen's words of  
before. She was starting to understand.  
  
"Did you say something?"  
  
"Hmmm? Oh, no, I didn't." Her eyes refocused on him, although when she  
spoke, her voice was distant. "Mulder, I'm sorry that I woke you, I  
really should have let you sleep..." She began to stand.  
  
"No, don't leave me." The strength as well as pure need in his voice  
startled them both. "Please don't run away. What ever has happened, what  
ever will happen, I'll still need you. We need each other to get through  
this together." Pause. "Nothing's changed." But the hesitation in his  
voice belied his own words.  
  
"Except her. Nothing's changed, except her."  
  
She's silent. Unconsciously her hand slowly traced circles on the thin  
cotton of the blue shirt she wore. Her hands moved restlessly on her  
abdomen, the circles becoming tighter and tighter the longer she stood  
thinking.  
  
Silence as they both stared at one another. Her expression was  
impenetrable to him.  
  
Finally she sat down again.  
  
It was obvious that she was upset, yet...what could he do to make it  
better? "Scully, I--" Mulder didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry. If you  
want to go you can. You probably need your rest too."  
  
"No. I'm fine. I'll stay here with you."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Ok." Pause. "Goodnight Scully."  
  
"Goodnight."  
  
And the silence settled uncomfortably around them. It was hours before  
either fell asleep.  
  
* * * * * *  
Kenya  
500,000 years ago  
  
The young man called out, alerting the others of his tribe. "Fire, I see  
fire over there. It came from out of the sky. Come with me and we will  
get it together." He said this with half formed words and gestures, but  
the message was clear. Another man approached and they left together.  
  
The men set out in the direction of the billowing smoke over the  
horizon. It would be a full days travel, but both understood the  
importance of obtaining fire. They had been without fire for several  
days, ever since the savage storm. They had lost the fire and they were  
not close enough to another band to obtain more. They had feared that  
they would have to wait for the stormy season, the time of the flashing  
streaks of light, to get more, but it seemed like things were beginning  
to look up.  
  
The two men traveled in silence all day, always on the lookout for food,  
as well as the wild animals that could attack. The trip was uneventful,  
though slow. Everywhere they turned, they saw the effects the storm had  
had on the land. Trees fallen, branches broken, and carcasses of animals  
spotted the ground. The men had investigated the killed animals, but  
found them to be in such foul form that they were useless. They left the  
remains to the scavenging animals.  
  
As the day progressed, they made their way out of the ruins of the  
storm, and into an entirely different type of ruins. They'd just cleared  
a bluff when they took in a startling sight. Here, the trees were  
toppled, but not in the haphazard, random way of before. And instead of  
just a few of the older, weaker trees falling, the entire forest before  
them had fallen, all laying in the same direction, toppled as if mere  
branches. The tips of the trees singed and striped of their bark. They  
had never seen any thing like it before.  
  
They paused at the crest, confused and uncertain as to what to do next.  
Then the first man, the one who had first spotted the smoke, made their  
choice. The fire was far to valuable to give up, to pass up this  
opportunity.  
  
They continued.  
  
It was approaching dusk when they arrived at the place of fire. Knowing  
the late hour, and hazards of traveling at night, the two prepared to  
stay.  
  
First wrapping a segment of animal skin to the end of a fallen branch,  
they walked up to the edge of the billowing smoke. The stench of the  
surrounding animal carcasses, as well as the gray ash, remnants of the  
life now being burned, filled the air, causing their chests to tighten,  
and left them gasping for air.  
  
Once completed, they set up their impromptu campsite. The men moved to a  
safe distance away from the glowing fire and settled on the blackened  
earth. They had learned long ago that fire cannot go to the blackened  
areas, so they knew that this would be a safe region.  
  
Although they were both hungry and tired from their travels, they were  
both pleased to have warmth after so many nights without. The first man  
indicated to the second that he was to stay awake to keep guard since  
they were in an open and unfamiliar territory. The second man got up  
and gathered some of the easily accessible wood to fuel the fire and  
pulled out his stone knife. It wasn't much, but his other, larger weapon  
had been loss in the storm. He sat close to the fire for warmth, while  
the other man slept.  
  
* * * * * *  
The heat was bothering the oil, speeding up its processes to an  
uncomfortable level. Driven by instinct, it strove to clear the flames.  
The oil couldn't find what it needed. It had been seeking for awhile,  
but nothing it found triggered nothing more than a passing  
acknowledgment. Everything around it was far too simple in nature.  
  
Moments later it managed to clear the last of the flames. Moving easier  
now, it explored its environment. Still only nothing. It needed  
something more-and then it found it.  
  
* * * * * *  
The second man had just begun to nod off when he heard movement, a  
rustling sound, like leaves against the earth. But he knew that there  
were no leaves in this area that had not burned. He stood up, knife in  
hand and surveyed his surroundings. He saw nothing; he heard nothing  
more. He stood still, motionless. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he  
saw something. Moving his head almost imperceptibly, the man turned to  
face that direction. He saw the movement again.  
  
He couldn't tell what it was. He had never seen anything that reflected  
light like it did. The man began to cautiously move toward the  
substance, curious.  
  
Squatting before it, he slowly brought his hand down to touch the  
material. Bringing his hand up, he rolled the oil between his  
fingertips, feeling its smooth texture and watching the light play  
against the liquid substance.  
  
* * * * * *  
The man's contact was all that was necessary to catapult the creature  
into action. Pulling itself into the man, the creature had found its  
place. If it could have sighed, it would have in relief.  
  
* * * * * *  
When the first man woke up in the middle of the night, he saw his  
companion a few paces away, staring off and motionless. He signaled to  
him "What's wrong? Danger?"  
  
The second man turned. "No. I thought I saw something, but I was wrong.  
My turn to sleep?"  
  
The other man looked at him, his eyes slightly squinting, before he  
responded. "Yes, we can switch now."  
  
* * * * * *  
The next day the two men set off, each carrying a torch. The first man  
had forgotten about his misgiving of the previous night, while the  
second man's memory of the event had disappeared with the night  
  
And man took another step.  
  
* * * * * *  
March 7, 1999  
Resistance Headquarters  
Ed Bower's Office  
6:42 am  
  
Ed Bower wearily opened the door to his office and dropped his overnight  
bag just inside. He pulled off his well worn, dust covered jacket, and  
placed it on his coat rack. He happened to glance at his reflection in  
the mirror next to the door. Something looked odd. He ran his hand over  
his bearded cheeks, in the process disturbing much of the dust that had  
settled there from before he'd gotten the urgent call twelve hours ago.  
He had gotten on the first flight available straight from the field and  
hadn't even paused to clean up.  
  
His hand was still on his beard as he leaned closer to the mirror. Had  
he been this gray before he left? He didn't quite remember having this  
much salt to his pepper. "I wouldn't be surprised if I've gone total  
white by the time this as all said and done."  
  
He turned away from the mirror and crossed to his desk, bring his  
overnight bag with him. He sighed with relief as he sat in his  
comfortable chair. He suddenly felt incredibly old.  
  
It had been a long flight, but it was going to be an even longer day. He  
sat heavily in his chair and rested his head on his cupped hands.  
"God, had it finally come to this?" Not for the first time he wished  
he were like everyone else, blissfully ignorant. If only he had taken  
that teaching position... what was it now? 20 years ago?... he could be  
the head of the department by now, published... But no, he had chosen to  
return to the field. Seeking glory. He'd wanted to find something new  
and revolutionary. What a damn cocky kid he had been; he had certainly  
gotten what he wished for.  
  
He brushed those thoughts away with an ease born of many years of  
practice. No use looking to the past. The present needed all of his  
attention.  
  
Thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in." He didn't  
look up.  
  
"I'm glad to see that you're back. How was your trip?" He could feel  
Cassandra's smile through her words.  
  
He raised his eyes to meet Cassandra's. "Long. I didn't get much sleep  
either. What time is it anyway? I'm still on Tunisian time."  
  
She glanced at her watch. "About a quarter to seven."  
  
Her answer spurred him into action. "Already? I'm not even  
half-prepared...and I still need to speak with that new guy, Dagen is  
his name I think..." His voice trailed off as he set the overnight bag  
on the floor and began to sift through the mess that he called a desk.  
  
She leaned across his desk and laid a calming hand over his, halting his  
motion. "Don't worry about that. Dagen is organizing the evidence in the  
conference room, and you already know much of the story."  
  
"It's not that so much, as I'm worried about how I present it. This  
isn't something that is easily excepted. I just don't want to scare her  
off. From what Allen has told me, she is crucial to our efforts."  
  
She walked up behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. "I'm  
sure that you will do just fine. You just have to speak the truth." As  
she spoke, she began to massage the tense muscles of his shoulders and  
neck. Ed let out a sigh of relief as warmth infused his tired muscles.  
"You always give the best shoulder rubs."  
  
"It's a gift." The irony of that statement did not escape him. A moment  
passed before he spoke again. "And how are our guests?"  
  
"You know that Mulder is here with us?" She asked.  
  
He nodded. "Allen has kept me updated."  
  
He placed his hands over hers and halted her motion. He turned his chair  
to face her. "Are you sure that we can trust them?"  
  
"We can trust them. This is what they've been working for all of these  
years. Once everything is explained I am sure that she will help us."  
She said this confidently.  
  
"Are you sure?" Concern laced his words.  
  
"Yes. Mulder will be easiest to convince, but Scully will believe once  
we show her the evidence. Of course," she amended, "she will be forced  
to believe once she begins to witness the evidence first hand."  
  
"I'm not worried about that so much as I am worried about her  
participation. If they are as close as you say, will he let her do  
this?"  
  
She couldn't help but smile at his comment. "'Let' her? How  
progressive." She was only slightly teasing.  
  
Ed had the sense to look contrite. "That's not what I meant. It's  
just..."  
  
Cassandra let him struggle for a moment longer before rescuing him.  
"They will both see that this is the only option. And I don't see either  
of them putting themselves before the rest of the world."  
  
"Is it wrong for me to be happy that we can't have you do it?"  
  
"It would make things much simpler for everyone." She acknowledged.  
  
He looked up to her face. Their eyes met. "If I were in Mulder's place,  
I don't know if I could let you do it."  
  
"You would. I know you, and I know that you would do what was right."  
  
He squeezed her hand. Softly, he said, "I missed you."  
  
She smiled down at him. "I know. I missed you too."  
  
She let the moment linger before changing the subject. "So, what was so  
important at the site that you had to rush out of here like a maniac  
last week? Did you find anything worth mentioning?"  
  
His eyes immediately lit up with excitement. "I can't believe that I  
almost forgot to tell you this." He bent at his waist and pulled his bag  
from the floor. From it, he pulled out a large piece of paper with an  
intricate etching on it. "You know how we haven't discovered anything  
that could be construed as art, or writing or anything that indicates  
creativity at the site?"  
  
Cassandra nodded, she remembered what he had told her.  
  
"Well anyway," He continued, "we have studied this specific site for  
nearly twenty years and haven't found anything remotely like this. This  
is a first major breakthrough in five years.  
  
"A couple of months ago we decided to expand the dig, to explore the  
surrounding area. To our surprise, we found another settlement about 500  
yards from the main site. It was clearly from the same era, the  
materials and methods used for the buildings were the same as the  
original site, but there was a huge difference. There was art. This," He  
opened the folded paper and spread it flat against the desktop, "this is  
just a part of a series of complex pictographs that adorned the walls of  
the dwellings."  
  
Cassandra looked down at the paper with amazement. "What do you think  
that this means?" She asked as she looked up from the paper to his face.  
  
"This is only a segment of a much larger..." He paused, searching for  
the correct word, "...story. Yes, story is the right word. The carvings  
seem to depict a story, perhaps even a history of these people. I took a  
great deal of pictures of the various carvings, but I knew that the  
pictures could not do it justice, as far as the grand scope of this art,  
as well as the intricate depictions presented, so I took an etching.  
This is the final picture in the series, and the one that I feel is the  
most significant."  
  
Ed met Cassandra's eyes. "I know what I think I see, but I want you to  
tell me what you see when you look at this. What do you think this  
represents?"  
  
She carefully studied the etching for several moments before speaking.  
She chose her words carefully. "It looks... well this right here," she  
pointed to a corner, "looks like a group of people..." She hesitated,  
still studying the picture. "No, actually it looks like two specific  
groups. Yes..." She murmured to herself. She pointed to two different  
areas. "Yes, there are two groups, one here, and the other, smaller  
group here."  
  
Although he did not wish to influence her take on the etching, Ed  
couldn't help but nod with enthusiasm at her interpretation. If she,  
most definitely a layperson, could see what he did... He needn't have  
worried about Cassandra witnessing his reaction; she had not yet taken  
her eyes off the paper.  
  
Ed watched as her eyes took in the sight before her; as tried to make  
sense of it all. He saw the moment she comprehended; he knew that she  
saw what he, and the others, saw, even before she spoke. Cassandra began  
to speak excitedly. "Yes, two groups, and this right here," she pointed  
to the large geometric figure that took up much of the center of the  
carving, "this is a spacecraft, and this group, the larger one," once  
more she gestured toward one of the groups that represented the people,  
"this larger group is going to it, boarding the ship."  
  
Only now did she look up and meet Ed's eyes as her last comment took a  
firm hold in her psyche. "This group is boarding the ship and leaving on  
it."  
  
******  



	12. 12

Conference Room  
7:09 am  
  
* * * * * *  
A single event can awaken within us a stranger  
totally unknown to us.--Antoine de Saint-Exupery  
* * * * * *  
  
Dagen set the large stack of papers down. They sat precariously on the  
table in the spacious conference room. He was gathering the evidence so  
that the agents could look at it during the presentation. He happened to  
glance down to the paper on the top of the stack. It was a copy of a  
gene sequence from that Praise boy. The sequence that had started it  
all...  
  
He sighed as he set the paper down. Who would have thought that there  
was such a thing as too much success? Surely not him ten years ago when  
they had recruited him right out of grad school. He had been the 'golden  
boy,' hand picked by Dr. Eugene Mitchell, project head. Even though he  
had been young, he had been the leader of the research team that had  
developed new methods for gene splicing.  
  
The offers that had come in after that study had been published...  
Sometimes, too often, he wondered what would have happened if he had  
followed his mother's advice and taken that nice steady job at that  
pharmaceutical company, instead of taking the offer that paid the most.  
He could be developing the cure for cancer instead of...  
  
What would have happened? How much better would the world be if he'd  
just followed that advice? He picked up another paper. This one had a  
section of Scully's genes. Her *new* genes. Well, he knew how much  
better off Scully would be.  
  
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. God, he was only 31 years  
old, and all he wished was that he had become a failure.  
  
"So how are our guests doing?"  
  
Dagen's eyes had still been closed so he had not seen the man enter. The  
unexpected noise startled him and had sent the stacked papers fluttering  
to the ground. He bent at the waist and began picking up the papers as  
he replied to Krycek's inquiry. "About as well as we hoped. I believe  
that Mulder has recovered. Ed has just gone to get them."  
  
"So you've spoken with Ed?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What are you doing now?" Krycek casually leaned over the table and  
peered down on Dagen, who was hunched over the floor, trying to shuffle  
the papers back into some semblance of order.  
  
"I need to gather some of the evidence so that we can present it to them  
as we tell them the story."  
  
"Ah, the story...the explanation for everything, right? In the  
beginning...'God created man in his own image'...He took a rather  
circuitous route of doing that, wouldn't you say?" He looked at Dagen.  
  
Dagen had only been half listening to Krycek. "He?"  
  
He shrugged his shoulders. "Or She if you prefer, or maybe It? Who am I  
to say what God is? I can't wait to see their faces as the story  
unfolds. I'm sure that it will be priceless."  
  
Dagen finally stood and set the papers down, this time in smaller  
stacks. "You won't be here."  
  
"Oh why not?" Krycek looked genuinely disappointed, even though his tone  
was light.  
  
Dagen met his eyes. "They loathe you. You'd only be a distraction."  
  
Krycek snorted with disbelief. "And you won't? Once you spill your news  
you think that you will be their best friend?"  
  
"Look, what I did, what I was part of...it wasn't supposed to be like  
that. I didn't mean--"  
  
"You didn't mean for this to happen? This isn't something that you just  
stumbled on." He strode over to the pile of documents sitting on the  
table. He picked up a fat stack with his hand and waved the papers under  
Dagen's face. "This sure doesn't look like you stumbled over this  
treatment. How many months did it take you until you were able to  
isolate the specific gene in the boy? Huh? I'm sure that there was a  
moment or two where you could have thought about the possible  
consequences of your experiments." He slammed the stack back down on the  
table. "What the hell did you think they were going to do with the  
information? They weren't shelling out the big bucks just so you could  
play with you chemistry set. And--"  
  
"Shut up." Dagen interrupted Krycek's tirade. "I don't need a lecture on  
ethics or morals, and certainly not from you."  
  
"Are you implying something, Dagen?" He said this with a smirk.  
  
Krycek's smugness was insufferable, but Dagen refused to act angry or  
upset, which would have pleased him immensely. Instead, he kept his  
features expressionless and his voice cool. He ignored Krycek's comment;  
instead he just said, "Get out."  
  
"You know, I don't understand where all of this hostility is coming  
from. You should be thanking me, not cursing me. I brought you into  
this. Now you have the chance to try to make things right. This is your  
shot at redemption. You should be thanking me."  
  
"Thanks. Now get the hell out of here."  
  
"Only because you asked so nicely..." And with that last comment, Krycek  
left.  
  
Dagen sat heavily in one of the chairs at the table. He brought his  
hands up to his head, cradling each side of his face. His head was  
beginning to pound.  
  
******  
  
Mulder's Room  
7:15 am  
  
Scully had somehow managed to fall asleep, even though the chair she sat  
on was immensely uncomfortable and her nerves fried to the point of  
blistering. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion from maintaining her sanity  
in this strange and awful universe she had fallen into, that had allowed  
her to rest.  
  
She was cold, but she was powerless to find some way to cover herself.  
Her limbs didn't respond to her commands. Her teeth wanted to chatter,  
but her jaw did not respond. She was flat on her back, that she was  
sure of, but other than that, she couldn't be sure of anything.  
  
She tried to open her eyes, but could not. They were frozen shut.  
  
Yes, frozen. She was frozen solid. The cold seeped into her bones and  
she wanted to shiver, she wanted to shiver so badly, anything to try to  
shake the chill off, but she could not.  
  
And she just lay there.  
  
Then suddenly she could see, even though her eyes remained shut, but  
this did not surprise her.  
  
She blinked, or seemed to, even though her eyes remained closed. Bright  
light shined in her eyes. But she didn't want to close them. She was  
afraid of the dark.  
  
Incredibly bright light. A light that should have hurt her eyes, but it  
did not.  
  
She stared into the light, not quite sure what she was looking at. It  
was familiar. Yes very familiar. It was the sun. Yes it was the sun.  
  
Was she outside now?  
  
That must be it. That made sense. She could see the blue sky surrounding  
the bright circle above. How had she missed that before?  
  
She wasn't cold now, either. The radiant sun was lending its warmth to  
her, and she was beginning to thaw. She could turn her head now; open  
her eyes for real.  
  
Turning her head to the side, Scully was able see more of her  
surroundings. She was in a clearing in the center of a forest. She lay  
on a luxurious bed of grass. She could feel the grass's gentle tickling  
against her cheek and wished she could run her fingers through it.  
  
She couldn't do it then, the rest of her body remained immobilized, but  
she could feel the delightful pin prickling sensations that foretold  
returning movement. She waited impatiently.  
  
Scully felt as if time was running out.  
  
Scully was thawing in degrees. She looked down to her hands folded  
neatly on her abdomen. She could move her fingers now, and they waited  
restlessly for her arms to catch up.  
  
Seconds or minutes later, she couldn't be sure, her arms were freed. Her  
fingers dug into the thick grass as she raised herself up into a sitting  
position. Her legs remained numb, and as she waited, a delicate  
butterfly lightly fluttered into view. The insect hovered near her face,  
and Scully shifted her weight onto her left arm so that she could bring  
her right hand up.  
  
Scully extended her index finger and to her surprise and delight the  
butterfly landed, and sat perched on her fingertip. The multicolored  
wings beat gently. The wings were nearly transparent in the intense  
light, and she could see the fragile veins that coursed through the  
wings.  
  
A shadow suddenly fell across her hand. The butterfly, sensing a danger  
before Scully, made its departure. Before she could turn to see who had  
approached, Scully felt hands grip her shoulders, and with great force,  
she was driven back into the grass.  
  
Except it wasn't grass any longer.  
  
It was a table. A hard, cold, metal table. And she was beginning to  
freeze again.  
  
"NO!" She tried to scream, but her lips and tongue were already  
incapacitated. But she struggled anyway. She didn't want to be here, on  
this table, in this cold white room. She had been here too many times  
already.  
  
Scully felt a hand stroke her forehead, and even though the only thing  
that now remained thawed was her eyelids, the hand felt incredibly cold,  
cold as one of the bodies found in autopsy bays, colder than her own  
frozen skin.  
  
She rolled her eyes back to try to gain a glimpse at her companion and  
then wished she hadn't. A scream tried to claw its way from her vocal  
cords, but became strangled in her paralyzed throat.  
  
Scully was looking at herself, but it wasn't her, couldn't be. The head  
was too bulbous, skin too pasty, eyes too vacant. "Please God", she  
prayed, "please don't let this be me." But it was her. The second it  
began to speak she knew.  
  
"It's ok Dana. Everything will be ok. I know that you're scared now, but  
it'll all work out for the best. I know what's best for you, for us.  
Trust me... It is so much better feeling nothing. So much better than  
being afraid..."  
  
Scully couldn't talk, couldn't move. She tried begging to her alter ego  
with her eyes, to no avail. The other her just ran her hand over  
Scully's forehead again. "I told you, don't worry. You'll like having  
all of the pain, and fear, and worry gone." She pulled a light to the  
table, and placed it directly over Scully's head. As much as Scully  
wanted to look away, her paralyzed body could not let her. But it wasn't  
a real light; no it was something much worse. It was indicative of an  
outer darkness; it was only mere reflective light  
  
"Don't worry. This won't hurt a bit. And soon you'll be just like me."  
  
******  
Her own scream woke her. Scully went from sleep to wakefulness with a  
painful jolt and she sat up straight in her chair, heart pounding, mouth  
dry. Realization swept over her: There was a presence in the room.  
  
The after images of her dream remained and it took several seconds  
before she realized that the thin being that stood in front of her was  
no and alien, but in fact a man. A tall, thin man with a graying beard,  
leathery skin from too many years in the merciless sun. The lines of his  
face spoke of wide grins and a gentleness that could only have been  
etched over decades. He had one hand on his chest, and on his face he  
wore a look of surprise mixed with concern. It seemed that she wasn't  
the only one startled by her cry.  
  
"Are you ok?" He asked, concerned. "I'm sorry if I frightened you. That  
wasn't my intention."  
  
"No, it wasn't you, but something else. It was I who startled you. I'm  
sorry." She stood, and straightened her disheveled clothing.  
  
"I was coming to wake you both."  
  
Walking a short distance away from the bed, she motioned for the man to  
follow. She spoke quietly, trying not to disturb Mulder, although he had  
already slept through her calling out. "Can you help us? We need some  
questions answered and you seem to be someone that can help us."  
  
"Yes, that is actually the reason I'm here. I've come to bring both of  
you to a meeting I've set up." He paused, then laughed again holding out  
his hand. "I'm sorry, I haven't even introduced myself yet. I'm Dr.  
Bower, but you can call me Ed."  
  
"Nice to meet you." She gripped his hand.  
  
-Flash-  
  
The sun... so bright above...the earth below, the innards revealing its  
secrets. Men bent double over ancient pits, dusting away the secrets,  
particle by particle.  
  
-Flash-  
  
Excitement... confusion, a realization...then-  
  
Scully jerked away as if he struck her with a live electrical wire.  
  
Ed looked at her, and blinked slowly. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"I'm fine." She whispered.  
  
Ed was talking again, but she couldn't seem to comprehend the words. She  
was having after-images, after-thoughts from her contact. A tablet--no,  
a mural of some kind, and the realization of what it all meant... She  
mentally shook her head in an attempt to clear her head. "This has to  
stop." In her mind, she visualized bricks being stacked. One on top  
of the other, mortar spread thick between.  
  
She could hear him now. Ed was mid sentence when she began listening  
again.  
  
"-- thought that it would be best to let you both have the night before  
we..." He laughed nervously. "Before we deluge you with information. We  
also thought it would be best to give Mulder time to finish getting  
better, and to give you time to adjust to all that is happening." He  
paused, and concerned laced his words. "How are you adjusting?"  
  
"Adjusting? Can he actually be serious? Well, except for the mind  
reading thing, the double abduction thing, oh and of course the toxic  
green blood, things are swell."  
  
She didn't say any of this of course, instead, she responded with her  
stand-by. "I'll be fine."  
  
Ed seemed to believe her and he turned to leave. But he then remembered  
something. "I almost forgot. Across the hall, there's a bathroom where  
you both can freshen up. We have some clothing for both of you as well.  
I'll come back in a few minutes and then we can begin."  
  
"Then we can begin." She agreed.  
  
* * * * * * 


	13. 13

Conference Room  
7:27am  
  
* * * * * *  
A creation out of nothing, by an infinite Being if you like, is a  
hypothesis that cannot be ruled out by the physical evidence  
presently available. But neither is it in any degree confirmed  
by that evidence, nor is it the only possible hypothesis.  
-- Wallace I. Matson  
* * * * * *  
  
Mulder and Scully were ushered into a large room, which was set up with  
an expansive table and chairs around it. Tall gray filing cabinets lined  
one wall, and on another were bookcases filled with various medical and  
science books, as well as journals.  
  
Dagen moved to the end of the table where Scully noticed that a  
projector had been set up. He motioned to the chairs next to him.  
"Please, sit." Scully and Mulder sat down next to each other, side by  
side.  
  
"Would you like some coffee?" Ed held up a previously hidden coffeepot.  
They both nodded.  
  
"Cream, no sugar." He set one cup before Scully. "And black for you." As  
he set the other before Mulder. "Correct?" he asked with a questioning  
look on his face. Warily, they nodded again. For some absurd reason,  
Mulder found this very unnerving, more so than everything else that they  
had been through. "They know how we take our coffee? What else do they  
know?"  
  
Both Ed and Dagen sat down across from them, each with their own cup. Ed  
looked at the couple in front of him and sighed. "I really don't know  
how to start. There is a lot that we have to cover."  
  
"I can think of any number of places to begin." Scully began to count on  
her fingers. "What was done to me... why...who...what are we doing  
here...the treatment that was given to Mulder..." her hand fell to the  
table, "I could go on."  
  
Mulder spoke up. "Perhaps it would just be best if you began at the  
beginning."  
  
The two doctors shared a long look. Ed spoke again. "He wants us to  
start at the beginning." A heavy sigh escaped his lips. " I guess that  
is as good a place as any. But before I do that, let me tell you a bit  
about us. As you know my name is Ed Bower. I have a Ph.D. in  
paleoanthropology." He looked at the doctor. "Dr. Dagen here is an  
immunogeneticist. We have been elected by the others, because of our  
extensive knowledge in our respective fields to tell you both  
everything."  
  
Mulder leaned forward. "Everything, everything?"  
  
Ed smiled. "As much as you can take."  
  
Mulder's hands rubbed together eagerly. "We're ready."  
  
Ed continued. "First, I think that I should explain how we have come to  
know all that we do. We worked for a group, a kind of consortium, if  
you will."  
  
Mulder glanced to Scully, and they shared a slightly worried look. This  
exchanged did not pass Ed unnoticed. "You are familiar with it I  
believe. We were both recruited to the project many years ago.  
Unfortunately, at the time of our recruitments, we were not fully aware  
of what the group was all about. And once we did... well, let's us just  
say that the jobs we took aren't the kind you can quit easily ... or put  
on a resume."  
  
"So what are you saying? Are you still working for them, what parts that  
are left?" Mulder questioned, concern evident in his voice. "Not any  
longer." Ed hurried to correct. "Actually, we were recruited again, by  
another group, but this time for a much greater purpose."  
  
"And what is that purpose?" This time it was Scully.  
  
"Prevent colonization." Ed answered.  
  
Scully asked, "And just who is this group?"  
  
Dagen spoke now. "The resistance. I know that they've done horrible  
things--"  
  
Scully cut him off. "But they had their reasons, right?" Scully remained  
calm, but her tone took on a decidedly icy turn. "We all have our  
reasons. I understand, really I do. It was necessary, right? Necessary  
to kill those men of the consortium as well as their entire families.  
It was necessary to lure me and a great number of others to our almost  
certain death on a bridge."  
  
Dagen sighed; frustrated by the turn this meeting had already taken.  
"Please, wait. I know that this doesn't sound the best yet...but...this  
isn't how I expected it to go." He murmured the last part under his  
breath. He tried again. "The story needs to go in order for everything  
to be adequately understood. I don't mean to say that the activities  
that were conducted will be... justified... but..." He faltered once  
again. He looked to Ed for help.  
  
Ed took his cue. "What I think he is trying to say, what *we* are trying  
to say, is that you need to know the big picture before you should make  
up your minds. And it is a big picture. What you know now, is only a  
mere fraction of everything." Both Ed and Dagen looked at them with an  
almost pathetic look on each of their faces. They pleaded with Mulder  
and Scully to understand, or at the very least give them a chance.  
  
Mulder reached his hand under the table and found Scully's hand. He  
squeezed it once, reassuring her of his presence. He was willing to give  
them a chance. Scully spoke. "We'll hear everything? Including what  
exactly what was done to me?"  
  
Ed nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. I promise we will tell you  
everything we know." He resumed speaking, starting from were he had left  
off previously. "We were chosen to speak with you because our respective  
specialties highly relate to the story. I personally worked mostly in  
the field on digs, uncovering fossils, archeological sites, et cetera.  
The doctor here worked in a lab, studying and researching both human and  
alien genetics."  
  
Dagen spoke. "I feel that we need to be completely honest here, if we  
have any hope of establishing a relationship with you. I don't want you  
to feel that we are hiding something important from you. "He paused and  
took a deep breath and said the rest in one great burst. "I was fully  
aware that experiments were taking place on the public. I was a part of  
the research group that studied and compiled the information that was  
gathered on the..."His eyes briefly met Scully's, but then shifted away.  
"...the subjects. Including Scully. Also, the work that I did, much of  
it was used to create the treatment that Scully under went. And..." Only  
now did he pause. This was the most difficult to admit. "And I worked on  
the project that chose Agent Scully as the subject that would be used  
for...he paused. Briefly looking at them both before continuing with the  
weight next word would hold, "...conversion."  
  
Mulder glanced at Scully next to him, trying to judge her response.  
There was tension at the edges of her mouth, and her back became a  
little more rigid; her shoulders a bit more square. But she didn't  
flinch. They all were silent as they waited for her response.  
  
More than anything, Mulder wanted to reach over the table and strangle  
the men sitting across from them for their part of the deception and  
what was done to her, but he also understood that this was her choice.  
She was the one who would decide how this meeting turned out. God knows  
how many choices had already been ripped away from her.  
  
They all waited tensely for Scully to speak. When she finally did, her  
voice was composed. "I understand. Please begin at the beginning." The  
men in the room all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief.  
  
Dagen paused a moment before he began. "The beginning... I guess the  
*very* beginning would be the most appropriate." He paused. "Agent  
Scully, what is the normally accepted theory as to the origin of life on  
earth?"  
  
"Well," she paused, briefly confused at the odd turn of the  
conversation; "the most commonly accepted view of the origin of life  
amongst the scientific community is the theory of abiogenesis, the  
theory that living matter may be produced from non-living matter." She  
paused and looked to the others. "Of course it isn't as simple as that.  
We aren't talking about spontaneous generation here. We're talking about  
a situation that no longer exists on earth that through good fortune and  
perhaps a little luck were conductive to creating life."  
  
"And what do you think of this theory?" Dagen prodded, seeking more of  
an answer.  
  
"What do I think? I'm not really an expert on this subject, but I think  
it is a valid theory. Tests have been done that have attempted to  
recreate primitive earth of 4 billion years ago, and from these tests  
simple amino acids were created. There is the classic experiment by  
Miller and Urey."  
  
The two doctors nodded, but she continued, mostly for Mulder's benefit.  
"The experiment was rather simple really. In a flask they created an  
'ocean' of water, which was heated, which forced the water vapor to  
circulate through an apparatus. In the top contained an 'atmosphere'  
made up of methane, ammonia, hydrogen, and the circulating water vapor.  
They exposed the gases to a continuous electrical discharge, or  
'lightning', which caused the gases to interact. The water-soluble  
products of those reactions then passed through a condenser and  
dissolved in the mock ocean. The experiment yielded many amino acids."  
  
"Do you think that is what happened?" Ed asked as she finished.  
  
"You know, I asked for you to begin at the beginning, but I really don't  
see the point of this."  
  
"There is, trust me." Ed assured. "What do you think happened?"  
  
She sighed, but continued. "Well of course we will never *really* know,  
but for the most part I agree with that theory."  
  
"For the most part?" Ed asked.  
  
"Well, perhaps it is just part of the human ego, or all of those years  
of Sunday School, but I don't really like the idea that we are all just  
a cosmic accident. I would like to think that maybe there is some  
ultimate purpose. I mean, don't we all?"  
  
"What if I were to say it wasn't an accident?" Ed didn't give her a  
chance to respond. "Agents, have you heard about the theory of  
panspermia?"  
  
She spoke again, this time humoring him. "I believe it's an alternate  
theory concerning the origin of life on Earth. The basic tenet of the  
theory is that life on Earth was seeded from space, and that life's  
evolution to higher forms depended on genetic programs that came from  
space."  
  
"From the look on your face, I take it that you don't hold much credence  
in that theory." Ed turned to address Mulder. "Mulder, have you heard  
about this theory?"  
  
"Actually, yes I have. A lot of research has gone into it, and there is  
evidence that life could have originated from outside this planet. In  
1996 it was determined that there was fossilized evidence of ancient  
life in a meteorite from Mars. In 1997 a NASA scientist published  
evidence of fossilized microscopic life forms in a meteorite not from  
Mars. And--"  
  
She interrupted. "That was never concluded absolutely. There was  
evidence that suggested that it was merely post-impact contamination.  
Besides, the age of these meteorites don't correlate with the time  
period when they would have had to *seed* the earth. And--".  
  
Scully was in turn interrupted by Mulder. "True," he acknowledged, "but  
in 1996 they found traces of a carbon in rocks from southwest Greenland  
that could have only come from life. These are the oldest signs of life  
on Earth, dating back 3.85 billion years. Nearly 400 million years  
earlier than was previous thought. This evidence suggests that microbes  
existed remarkably close to a time when giant meteorites bombarded the  
planet."  
  
Mulder was in his element and clearly enjoying it.  
  
She turned to look pointedly at him, mildly irritated at his  
interruption, before continuing. "As I was saying, the sheer amount of  
genetic material that would be needed to start this process..."  
  
"Wouldn't it explain how life originated on this planet?" Mulder leaned  
forward on the table. He was beginning to really warm up to this theory.  
It seems that this would be an easier, and more realistic possibility  
than non life becoming life."  
  
"That this planet was *seeded* by extraterrestrial organisms? But that  
just begs the question Mulder. Life would still have to *begin*, just  
with this theory, life would begin somewhere else. You would still have  
to deal with *how* life began in the first place."  
  
"Well, who says that there is a beginning? Could we say that there has  
always been life, that it is just one big cycle?"  
  
"Like the circle of life?" She said sarcastically. "It's a nice thought,  
but the universe is only about 12 billion years old. You're talking  
about an infinite concept existing in a finite universe. It just doesn't  
work that way."  
  
Ed stopped them before they could continue. "Whoa! Hold up here. I think  
that we got a little off track." He waited until he regained their  
attention before continuing. He summarized her comments. "So, it is my  
understanding that you don't agree with this theory that I suggested?"  
  
Another sigh, this was becoming tedious. "No, I don't hold much credence  
in this theory."  
  
"What would you think if we had evidence that proved otherwise?"  
  
Scully placed her most skeptical face on and answered. "I think that I  
would definitely need to see this 'evidence'."  
  
"We have the evidence right here." Dagen tapped the top of the stack of  
papers.  
  
"Evidence can be faked." She said simply.  
  
"Yes it can, I'm not denying that...But you're welcome to check to see  
if I'm telling the truth." Dagen held out his hand across the table.  
Scully instinctively pulled away from his outstretched arm.  
  
Mulder was confused. What was all of this about? He made eye contact  
with Scully but all he got was her abstract gaze. He leaned toward her,  
intent on deciphering her expression, and mouthed the word 'What?' She  
just held up her hand and brushed him off. She would tell him later, was  
the message she gave him. He would have to wait.  
  
Ed and Dagen watched this silence communication without speaking.  
  
Scully spoke. "No, that isn't necessary. We'll just go on the assumption  
that these reports are accurate for now." Scully's fingers were cramped  
from the force of her grip on the coffee mug, and willed them to loosen.  
She lifted the mug, inhaled the acrid steam, and sucked up a great gulp  
of coffee.  
  
"Why, Scully? Why should we just trust them on this?" Mulder  
thought. Yes, they would most definitely talk later.  
  
Dagen withdrew his hand, then changed the subject. "Agent Mulder, I  
understand that you have traveled to Tunguska, Russia. Is that correct?"  
  
Mulder appears to consider this for a moment, the corners of his mouth  
edging upward ever so slightly and quirking into an odd smile. "Yes, it  
is. I wouldn't recommend traveling there either, they have terrible room  
service."  
  
Ed smiled at Mulder's light tone and continued. "Then I assume that you  
are familiar with what occurred there in 1908?"  
  
Mulder nodded. "Yes. The Tunguska event in 1908 was due to the  
atmospheric explosion of a meteor. The energy released has been  
estimated to be the equivalent of 10-100 megatons TNT. The air blast  
resulted in the devastation of 2000 sq. km of Siberian forest."  
  
"I also understand that both of you were able to study part of that  
meteor, as well as the substance that was in it?" Ed looked expectantly  
at them.  
  
"Well, I don't think that it was ever concluded that that substance  
*came* from the rock..." Scully interjected, but her voice carried  
little force.  
  
"Well, it did come from the rock, and yes I can show you proof, but  
we'll save that for later. This substance is an extraterrestrial life  
form, and we do not think that this is the first time it has come to  
earth."  
  
"What are you saying?" Mulder asked.  
  
Dagen began to speak. "I've studied this substance, we'll call it black  
oil for lack of a better term, for many years. I have been able to do  
extensive tests on this oil, including a little bit of mapping its  
extensive genetic code. I've also been able to study samples of the  
earliest known life on this planet. Rocks as old as 3.5 billion years  
old that have prokaryotic fossils within them." He pulled out several  
papers and passed them across the table.  
  
Dagen continued. "I tested and compared the two life forms and I  
discovered that they share the same genes. The bacterium that I studied  
had the same genes as the oil. It was as if a small segment of the oil  
was directly cut from it and placed into the bacterium. The genetic  
variation was so slight that it was insignificant."  
  
"Are you saying that this oil, that was inside a meteor, crashed into  
earth, seeding it, providing the planet with extraneous genetic  
information, and this bacteria is proof of this? What you have is  
tenuous at best." She said.  
  
"Ah, wait!" Dagen held up one finger and used is other hand to dig  
through the increasingly disorganized stack. He kept talking, even  
though he hadn't yet found the paper. "There is another thing that I  
haven't mentioned. Other studies have been done by several other groups  
on this same bacteria and each confirmed that the genes are  
significantly older than the fossil record would indicate." He found the  
paper and slid it over to Scully. "These genes are some 4 billion years  
older than the earth itself is. Can you guess how old the oil's genes  
are?"  
  
Scully glanced at the paper and sighed. "The same."  
  
"Exactly." Dagen smiled.  
  
"What do you think that this *oil* is specifically?" Mulder asked.  
  
"Here is our theory: We think that this oil was purposefully sent for  
two reasons. When we studied this substance, we discovered that it had  
268 chromosomes. That's nearly six times the amount that humans have. It  
was also organized in a highly specific pattern, a pattern that I have  
never seen in nature." More papers were shuffled and handed out. Mulder  
just glanced at them briefly before passing them along to Scully. She  
would explain them to him later.  
  
"We discovered something else. When the oil was subjected to high  
temperatures, instead of breaking along the weakest bonds, areas that  
one would clearly expect it to split, it would break in other areas.  
Every time. We did the experiment over and over again with the same  
results. I can't begin to explain how this happened. It goes against the  
very nature of chemical bonds and frankly, well, everything." Dagen  
finally took a breath. Still had a hard time believing his own data,  
even now. "One of these segments was an exact match that the bacterium  
had."  
  
Mulder leaned forward eagerly. "You think that this organism was  
artificially created by something else, and sent through the universe  
with the purpose of seeding life on other planets. It was created in  
such a way that made it capable of bringing a wide range of life forms  
on the planet, increasing the chance that one would eventually develop  
sentience." He tried to keep his voice calm and neutral, but there was  
excitement in his tone.  
  
Ed stood and walked over to the wall and dimmed the lights and moved  
toward the projector at the end of the table. "We mentioned that we  
thought it was sent for two reasons; we've only mentioned one so far.  
This is where we get into my field of study, the origins of humankind.  
One of the more puzzling things about this field is the missing links.  
The in between stages of human evolution."  
  
Ed hit the switch on the projector and it whirled to life. A picture of  
an evolutionary tree appeared, and was projected onto the screen. The  
picture had several primitive species displayed, Australopithecus  
afarensis; Homo habilis; Homo erectus; modern man, and the corresponding  
dates for each. "Each stage lasts thousands, even millions of years,  
nearly unchanged, and then boom, a dramatic shift. We've not found these  
missing links and that is what is frustrating. We're able to see the  
before and after, but we can not see the in between, and until then, we  
can't begin to explain how it occurred."  
  
"There's a popular theory among the scientific community as to how these  
changes took place that I personally subscribe to. The basic tenant is  
this: each major turning point came from a single group of advanced  
individuals that replace the more archaic human types. These groups of  
advanced individuals would have originally been the same as the others,  
but for some reason got isolated from others, either through  
geographical reasons, or even social ones. This group, cut off from the  
others, and unable to interbreed, would have developed different types  
of characteristics just through normal genetic mutations as well as  
environmental factors. If these changes were conductive toward life,  
this group would of course thrive. After however many years, this group,  
now *evolved* would then go out into the rest of the world and begin to  
replace the others, either by direct conflicts, or, more likely, just  
the simple fact that they would be better adapted and more likely to  
survive."  
  
Ed paused. "I like this theory. It makes sense to me. But one thing  
still always bothered me about it. It still did not explain the missing  
parts of the fossil record. However, I have been able to expand this  
theory because of the evidence that we've gathered. I think that there  
was an outside influence that effected the course humanity took."  
  
Mulder glanced sidelong at Scully. This was getting...he searched for  
the right word. This was getting... heavy. What was she thinking? She  
was hardly speaking any more and he was having a hard time reading her.  
  
If she noticed Mulder's look, she didn't give any indication.  
  
Dagen took his cue from Ed. "Among the tests that we did on the oil, one  
was infecting lab animals. The first thing that we discovered was that  
the oil seemed most attracted to the animals with the higher brain  
function. Time and time again, if given a choice, it chose the animal  
with the most active brain waves. We think that it can somehow pick up  
on these waves."  
  
Mulder leaned forward on the table. "Are you saying that this oil, what  
ever it may be, has an intelligence of some sort? That it picked these  
subjects for a specific reason?"  
  
Dagen shook his head. "We don't think so. We think that it's just a well  
developed instinct."  
  
"There are some who would say the same thing about us." Mulder pointed  
out.  
  
"I guess that some could say that." Dagen agreed before continuing.  
"Another thing that we noticed was that once infected the animals began  
to change almost immediately. The oil changed the animals' genetic  
makeup. Well, changing is perhaps the wrong word. The oil merely  
activated those genes that up until recently were thought just to be  
junk DNA."  
  
Mulder's eyes widened with surprise. That was what the Gunmen said had  
been done to Scully. He looked in her direction. Had she picked up on  
that? Had she made the same connection as he? Scully didn't turn to look  
at him; he had no idea what she was thinking.  
  
"These changes were passed on to the offspring. Additionally, we  
discovered that the offspring had been infected in the womb, although  
the changes, independent of the mother, did not begin until birth."  
  
"What were these changes?" Mulder asked.  
  
"The first and most significant change was an increase in mental  
function. The physical changes included enhanced strength and a  
decreased susceptibility to disease. Also, the animals' life spans  
dramatically increased. Some as high as five to ten times their normal  
life span." The screen changed to display some of the animals in cages  
as the Dagen advanced the projector. "The actual morphological changes  
included increased brain cavity; the frontal and temporal lobes enlarged  
in mass." Click! A close up of a chimpanzee with a noticeably enlarged  
head. Dagen passed an image of a MRI across the table. "This is the scan  
of this creatures head. Notice the increased mass as well as activity."  
Mulder held it up against the light. Greek to him.  
  
Mulder passed it on to Scully. As he did, their fingertips touched. He  
looked up into her eyes. He had her attention and used it to silently  
mouth 'Ok?' Scully's head tipped forward ever so slightly. 'I'm fine.'  
Was what that nod meant. But he didn't believe it, not for a minute.  
Something was wrong. She was far too accepting of this and she was  
hardly saying anything.  
  
Dagen was still speaking. "The animals also began to lose their hair and  
gain more subcutaneous fat; there even was some evidence that these  
animals were becoming bipedal." Click! Another picture. This one was of  
three chimpanzees. Each displayed the characteristics that Dagen had  
described. They were looking into the camera and in their eyes was an  
unnerving quality that Mulder had trouble identifying. There was an  
intelligence about them... an unnatural, and disconcerting one.  
  
Dagen had paused to give them a chance to study the picture. "All of  
these, I might add, were crucial steps in man's evolution."  
  
"Where are these animals at now? I mean, what stage are they at?" Mulder  
asked.  
  
"Unfortunately, we had to halt the tests." Dagen looked apologetic. "The  
animals were getting far too smart. We had a series of near escapes, for  
one thing. We couldn't risk letting the animals loose into the  
population, and well, it was sort of frightening actually, working with  
the animals. In the end, they really weren't animals any more." Dagen  
paused, taking a small break.  
  
Ed took this opportunity to interject a comment of his own. "Recently,  
we learned that the Russians also performed tests of this nature, but  
their methods and security measures were considerably more lax. There  
have been reports of instances where an animal escaped into the  
population. They have of course denied this."  
  
"Flukeman.", was Mulder's sudden realization.  
  
And then another realization hit. "I've seen these creatures, I think. I  
was on a ship, we were on a ship, in the Antarctic and I saw these  
horrible monsters that were created... this is what they became?"  
  
Ed and Dagen looked at one another. Dagen was the one that spoke. "No,  
that is another matter entirely. You see, we aren't really sure what  
those creature are, or how they came to be. We do know that they seem to  
be related to the oil. We believe that the creatures you saw resulted  
from oil that has mutated, took an evolutionary turn if you will.  
Remember, these meteors have been pelting the planet for billions of  
years. It makes sense that not every one that arrived had contact with  
human ancestors. We think that the creature you saw resulted from the  
oil's interaction with another life form."  
  
Mulder nodded, he seemed satisfied with that explanation, at least for  
now.  
  
Ed continued. "But I think that this can help explain why there are gaps  
in the fossil record. There are gaps in the record because there were no  
intermediate steps. These changes took place within a generation, maybe  
two."  
  
"Are you saying that at each crucial juncture of human evolution can be  
attributed to this oil? It served as a catalyst, perhaps speeding the  
process up?" Mulder's voice was taking on an exuberance that seemed to  
brighten the room. "Or was it changing man into something specific?"  
  
Mulder felt a hand on his knee. A small hand. It was then that he  
noticed the projector vibrating slightly and he made the connection  
between it and his knee. His knee was bouncing with excitement, and with  
each bounce, the table moved slightly. He willed his leg still, and much  
to his regret, Scully removed her hand.  
  
"We think that it was changing man into something very specific." Ed  
said quietly.  
  
"And what do you think that would be?" Mulder asked carefully.  
  
Dagen glanced at Ed. Ed nodded, and Dagen continued. "I am not sure if  
you were aware, but we had access to an alien embryo. One of the tests  
that we conducted involved comparing it to the genetic make up of the  
oil. We didn't really know what to expect. We didn't know if the oil and  
it were related somehow. For awhile we believed that maybe the aliens  
were from another planet that had also been seeded. But we were  
mistaken. The embryo did have many characteristics and genes that  
indicated that it was closely related to the oil. But we also found  
that it was closely related to something else. "  
  
"What did you find?" Mulder asked carefully.  
  
It was Scully who answered. "What they are saying Mulder, is that your  
aliens, your little green men, are us."  
  
* * * * * * 


	14. 14

Tunisia  
120,000 years ago  
  
* * * * * *  
Humanity has in the course of time had to endure from the hands of  
science two great outrages upon its naive self-love. The first was when  
it realized that our earth was not the center of the universe, but only  
a speck in a world-system of a magnitude hardly conceivable... The  
second was when biological research robbed man of his particular  
privilege of having been specially created, and relegated him to a  
descent from the animal world. --Sigmund Freud  
* * * * * *  
  
The project had begun years ago. No one was sure how it had started, but  
all knew how it was going to end. The call to leave was ever present in  
their minds.  
  
With the increased intelligence and physical health endowed by the oil,  
this group thrived. The heightened intelligence provided them with the  
technology and the means to complete the project, while the enhanced  
health gave them an increased life span to see that the project was  
completed.  
  
And completed it had to be.  
  
No one knew why.  
  
But no one questioned it.  
  
The call to leave was ever present in their minds.  
  
* * * * * *  
There was another group, one nearly identical to the first except for  
one crucial exception.  
  
They heard no call.  
  
In the times past, in the oil's previous interactions with humanity's  
lineage, it was just a single encounter with a life form. The oil had  
its influence, but was limited to an individual. But in this time and  
place the oil had not been limited. The one infected had been female  
instead of a male, and this meant that there was not a natural limit.  
The oil was passed from mother to child in the womb, and the effects  
began to compound from one generation to the next.  
  
Any number of things could have happened that would have changed things.  
The first infected could have been a male; or it could have been a  
barren female. The first infected could have been a female who only had  
male children, which would have halted the changes after only two  
generations.  
  
But none of this happened, and that made the critical difference.  
  
It wasn't just the people who were changing.  
  
The oil was mutating as well. Its prolonged contact with the human mind  
and the advancing intelligence had an unexpected reaction. The oil began  
to gain its own intelligence.  
  
The instincts within it began to amplify and coalesce into so much more.  
The deep-seated need to find life, to find organisms of high  
intelligence was increased, and there was an overwhelming need to leave,  
to look for others.  
  
And so they built.  
  
The others watched, confused.  
  
******  
These others had inherited the altered genetics from their infected  
fathers, but were born from uninfected mothers and therefore they  
remained uninfected, and they maintained their free will.  
  
They watched with confusion as those infected worked from dusk to dawn,  
with no breaks, no pauses for meals, nothing. They worked until they  
could no longer move, and when they collapsed, no one even paused. There  
was no joy, no happiness, nothing amongst these people. Only the  
compulsion to leave, to find something better filled them.  
  
All was sacrificed for the project.  
  
* * * * * *  
When it was time, they left.  
  
No one looked back at the group that they were leaving behind as they  
boarded the craft.  
  
The others could not stop them.  
  
They watched in amazement as the craft rose from the ground. It hovered  
for a few moments, then it disappeared into the blue sky. All watched as  
their families disappeared from their lives forever.  
  
******  
This was a hardy group, the ones left behind. The group survived and  
thrived. It grew and expanded and began to take over new territories.  
The original group grew into the thousands and their evolved genes were  
passed on to the next generations.  
  
And so man took another step, and he conquered the world.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
March 7, 1999  
Resistance Headquarters  
Conference Room  
8:32 am  
  
To say that Mulder was excited would have been a vast understatement. To  
say that he was like an eight year old with ADD minus the Ritalin and  
plus a few cups of sugar laced with caffeine, would have been a more apt  
distraction. Scully noticed out of the corner of her eye that once again  
the projector was bobbing. She wondered when he would actually take  
flight from all of his pent up energy.  
  
Her comment had started the countdown. 10...9...8...  
  
"What do you mean, 'us'?" Mulder asked, but it really wasn't a question.  
She knew that he had already leapt to this conclusion. He was studying  
her, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her. "Nothing's  
wrong Mulder. I'm just not feeling quite myself today." She didn't  
need any of her newfound skills to realize this. She had worked with him  
for so many years that reading him had become second nature to her.  
  
But she could read him, him more than the others. The excitement was  
obvious. One could be deaf, dumb, and mute and still be able to know  
that... but underneath was concern and a fear and this only she could  
feel. A fear of what had been done to her... or was it an actual fear  
'of' her? Was he afraid of her? The thought came unbidden to her, and  
with almost physical effort she pushed it away.  
  
She didn't want to know the answer to that question.  
  
Scully reluctantly turned to meet his face. He asked the question again,  
"What do you mean, 'us'?", and reached his hand to touch hers. She  
instinctively recoiled from him. She didn't want to know his fear.  
  
Mulder's fingers were frozen, midair, inches from where her hand had  
been moments before. He held the pose a moment too long before turning  
to the men across from them.  
  
With hesitation, Ed answered the question that had first been directed  
at Scully. "Scully's correct. The so-called 'aliens' used to be human at  
some point in their history. As near as we can figure, from the genetic  
drift and taking into account the increased effects the oil has, it is  
my guess that they separated from us close to 120,000 years ago. This is  
the time period when Homo sapiens sapiens, or modern man began to first  
appear. This also fits the timetable of the archaeological site I  
discovered in 1979, the year I was 'recruited' into the project."  
  
"You found a site?" Mulder eyes widened even further, if that was  
possible. "What did you discover?"  
  
Cue projector. Click! A series of pictures depicting various aspects of  
excavation of the site flashed in quick secession. "It was a city, a  
highly sophisticated city. A city, which according to everything I knew  
at the time, should not exist. It was far too highly advanced, too high  
tech so to speak. The only time in history when man has come close to  
creating something as complex as this has only been in the last few  
years."  
  
"The people of the city were a highly evolved group of several thousand  
individuals. We have only recently begun to comprehend the technology  
that we discovered from the site. Many of the synthetic polymers and  
metal compounds we found we are still unable to recreate."  
  
"How do you even know that this was a human settlement?" Mulder asked.  
  
"We have found human remains that match modern man's. There is nothing  
that suggests that there was an outside source. These people mined for  
their minerals and metals. The polymers and metal compounds were created  
there as well; there were remains of foundries." Click! Picture of said  
foundries.  
  
Ed paused. "One thing that disturbs me about the city, however, is  
it's...sterility I guess would be the right word. The buildings were of  
a high quality, yet emotionally void." Click! Close ups of blank walls,  
barren pots, and empty hearths. "There was no indication of art or  
entertainment, or religion, and we haven't as of yet uncovered anything  
that could be considered a personal item. There was no evidence of  
writing, or a language, and no indication of what their power structure  
was like. It has really been somewhat a puzzle over the years. Only  
recently have the pieces been coming together."  
  
Ed chuckled under his breath. "Sorry to bore you with this, it's just  
that this is my area of study and I am simply fascinated with it."  
  
"No, this is great. This is just too great. This is the kind of stuff we  
like to hear." Mulder said quickly. "Please, continue. How have things  
been coming together?"  
  
"As I've said, I discovered this site in 1979, so I've been working on  
this for 20 years, and for the majority of that time, I was working for  
the consortium. While working with them, I was not informed of exactly  
what I was looking for. I thought that it simply was just another  
previously undiscovered civilization. Important yes, but I never  
believed that what I was studying would have such a far-reaching  
significance."  
  
"When I was recruited to the resistance several years ago, I was told  
everything else, and in the ensuing years learned the rest. This is what  
we've just told you. Recently, we had a break through at the site. We  
found a second settlement, not more than 500 yards away that was from  
the same era. The structures where built the same, same materials were  
used, et cetera. But there was one rather remarkable difference." Ed  
pulled out a large folded up paper and spread it flat on the tabletop.  
"We found art. This is just one of the examples of the carvings that  
decorated the walls." Mulder stood up next to her to gain a better  
overall view, and Scully followed suit.  
  
"There are over a hundred scenes that depict their life and history, all  
impressive, but this one is by far the most telling."  
  
Scully looked at the picture. Even to her untrained eye, she could  
clearly see what was meant to be depicted. Two groups, one leaving on a  
craft of some sort.  
  
"This is their history?" Mulder asked. "If it is, like you say, then  
this is the proof that they are us, that we had the same ancestors."  
  
"Yes, it is. We'd already pretty much came to this conclusion, but as  
you can see, this just strengthens this theory."  
  
"Think that we have moved beyond theory into fact." Mulder said, still  
somewhat awed.  
  
Ed nodded, agreeing with Mulder. "Yes, I think that it is safe to say  
that."  
  
Moments passed as they all stared at the paper spread across the table.  
Scully finally spoke. "You know, not to interrupt, or make light of what  
you have discovered here, but I would really like to get back to what  
was done to me... how... why..."  
  
"Of course. I'm sorry about this." Ed looked apologetic, Mulder guilty.  
"Dagen will explain that." Ed took the etching off the table and  
carefully put it away as everyone else sat back down.  
  
Dagen began. "While still working with the group I discovered a way to  
activate dormant genes. The same genes that the oil activates when it  
invades the body." He shrugged his shoulders almost apologetically. "I  
really just stumbled upon it actually. We were still years away from  
developing it. Cassandra was the first person that we tested it on and  
it was a success. Too much of a success."  
  
A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "We had spent so many years trying to  
come up with and alien/human hybrid. Yet once we discovered the true  
nature of the *aliens* it became a relatively easy procedure. That was  
why the rebels sacrificed the scientists and the majority of the  
consortium. The knowledge had to be kept away from the aliens. This  
base, where we are now, is headquarters for the resistance. We're the  
ones fighting against the incoming invasion. The aliens never found out  
about Cassandra, but they know of the existence of Scully, and will do  
anything in their power to get her."  
  
"Why?" Mulder's excitement of before was muted by a growing  
apprehension.  
  
"Once they have her, they will also have the means to create others like  
her, and the invasion will begin. She was given the treatment I  
discovered. The majority of the genes that would normally have been  
turned off in her are now on. She is where man will be in 500,000 years  
if allowed to evolve at the current rate. She is at the intermediate  
stage between human and alien."  
  
******  
North Texas  
37,000 years ago  
  
The wolves' hot breath froze the second it passed their panting mouths.  
The white mist hung in the air, but was lost against the backdrop the  
frozen landscape provided. The pack of wolves chased after and  
surrounded the prey with ease. With the confidence the pack provided, as  
well as the brutal instinct honed by several millennia of evolution, the  
deer was brought down with little trouble.  
  
The wolves surrounded the carcass of the fallen deer, and with gusto,  
tore in. The warm, bright red blood soaked into the white snow, staining  
it. The motion of the wolves tearing into the animal, as well as the  
melting snow caused the body to shift, revealing the ground underneath.  
  
The creature beneath awoke.  
  
* * * * * *  
The deer was nearly consumed when one of the wolves from the pack  
noticed something. Perhaps there'd been the slightest amount of  
movement, or perhaps there was just the sense that there was something  
odd. But what ever it was, her curiosity took over. Something had caught  
her attention. This particular wolf wasn't as mature and experienced at  
life as the others of the pack. The scar on her right hind leg that  
could be seen through her thick, light brown fur was evidence of that  
fact. A scar that she'd received from another, more dominant member of  
the pack, when she had ventured into territory that she didn't belong.  
  
She was venturing into dangerous territory again.  
  
The tip of the her nose brushed the black oil, but that was all that it  
took for the oil to take hold. She tumbled back with a high pitched  
yelp, her head whipping back and forth vigorously making her fall to the  
snow covered ground twitching in an attempt to gain back some kind of  
control. Those violent motions stopped as the wolf's eyes clouded over.  
  
The other wolves, sensing danger, and a possible threat, turned to face  
the victim. This victim was now rising with a newfound confidence and  
focus. She began to bare her teeth and growl in low tones at the others,  
as if she no longer recognized them. She snapped and barked as the pack  
cautiously approached her.  
  
Noticing the change within the female, the rest of the wolves approached  
to purge the pack of this new and now unknown enemy. Their heads down,  
ears drawn back, eyes piercing and squinting, they bared their teeth and  
growled even deeper. Not able to fight against the others, the infected  
wolf backed away, finding an escape route off into the woods. The pack  
did not pursue, but instead left the area in haste in search of more  
food.  
  
* * * * * *  
Something unusual happened with this infection. As in the past, when a  
female becomes infected, the oil, as well as the genetic changes, are  
passed on to the offspring. But in this case the female was pregnant  
when infection took place.  
  
As the oil actively invaded the mother's body, and changes began to  
occur, the fetuses were also invaded. Instead of a passive infection  
through the womb, the fetuses were attacked directly and changes began  
to take place.  
  
The oil's increased ability to change its host, combined with the  
rapidly dividing cells of the gestating embryos had a profound and  
synergetic effect.  
  
The wolf, isolated from her kind, sought shelter in an abandoned cave.  
Now unable to effectively hunt on her own, and with the increase in  
energy requirements needed for the rapidly growing and mutating life  
forms within her, the wolf was soon too weak to leave. Isolated, cut  
off, and too weak to care, she died, alone.  
  
That was for the best, for moments later, a newly synthesized organism  
literally burst forth from the womb. This creature, having consumed its  
siblings in the womb, now turned to its mother and ate her with a  
fervor. Still ravenous, and still continuing to grow at an alarming  
rate, this new creation knew it would have to venture out to seek more  
subsistence.  
  
Leaving the cave, the creature paused in the half darkness outside. The  
moon was shinning, sending its blue rays bouncing off the snow and  
falling lightly upon the sleeping earth. With the exception of a slight  
breeze that filtered through the naked trees, it was oddly quiet.  
Lifting its head into the wind, the creature sought out its next meal.  
Finding a direction, it took off.  
  
* * * * * *  
The camp's serene stillness was shattered by a scream of pure terror.  
The rest of the camp was roused to the site where the horrible cries  
emanated. The men grabbed their weapons and gathered around the entrance  
of the sleeping chamber.  
  
The cries abruptly ended.  
  
If it had been the cries that had first moved the men to action, it was  
the cessation of those same cries that moved the men to attack. The  
first men to enter the chamber were quickly disposed of, and the rest of  
the men hesitated. The creature left the confines of the enclosure, and  
snarled. Red gleamed from its mouth, and its fully extended claws  
dripped with blood. The men could only look in horror.  
  
One man, able to shake off the terror that had immobilized the others,  
led the battle cry and moved to attack. The other men, seeing the man's  
courage, were able to break from the spell as well. The men converged on  
the beast.  
  
The creature, calculating the risks, decided at that moment to depart.  
  
* * * * * *  
The two men ran at a frenetic pace through the snow. They had been  
running all night, following the obvious tracks in the snow the creature  
had left behind. The only sound that could be heard was their heavy  
breathing, the crunch of the snow beneath their feet, and the empty  
howling of the wind.  
  
Several hours after daybreak they had managed to follow the tracks into  
a cave of ice. The two entered cautiously. One of the men pulled out two  
rocks and with a crack he hit the pair together, creating a spark that  
lit the torches.  
  
They cautiously made their way though the cavernous structure, slowly  
swinging the torches back and forth looking for any sign of the  
creature. One of the men momentarily paused to look at something that  
appeared to be frozen in the ice, but before he could make anything out,  
the creature broadsided him.  
  
The beast attacked with an intensity that the man was not prepared for.  
He was only able to do one quick thrust into the creature's underbelly  
before being brought down.  
  
The other man, reacting on instinct, attacked the creature from behind  
in an effort to save his partner. Bringing down his own weapon to the  
creature, he struck with as much force as he could muster. He was  
roughly thrown off the creature's back and on to the frozen ground.  
  
Still stunned from the blow, the man quickly turned onto his back to  
face his attacker. To his surprise, the creature had retreated and it  
was not clear as to where it had gone. Pausing momentarily, he bent over  
the fallen man. He was obviously dead.  
  
Tossing his emotions aside, the man continued into the cave. Climbing  
over a slight rise, the man discovered the creature, lying motionless  
and clearly wounded. The man brought the torch close to the head and  
waved it back and forth to see if it would react. The creature was  
unresponsive.  
  
Gathering his courage, the man brought up his weapon to strike once  
more. The beast responded to this. Summoning its strength, the creature  
catapulted toward the human. It was only able to strike a few blows  
before the man got the upper hand. The man, forcing the creature to the  
ground, struck a blow to the chest that effectively killed it.  
  
He sat up, breathing heavily, relieved.  
  
Then the man noticed the oil moving from the wound of the creature to  
him.  
  
And the man began to cry out in horror.  
  
* * * * * *  
The oil would remain undiscovered, hidden from the world's prying eyes,  
until one afternoon many, many years later, when a young boy named  
Stevie decided to go digging with his father's shovel.  
  
* * * * * * 


	15. 15

Resistance Headquarters  
Conference Room  
9:00am  
  
* * * * * *  
Two are better than one, because they have a good reward to their toil.  
For if one falls, one will lift up the other; but woe is to one who falls  
alone, for he has no one to get him up. Again, if two lie together, they  
can keep each other warm, but how can one keep warm alone? Even if one  
prevails against the other, two shall always withstand one.  
--Ecclesiastes, 4:9-12  
* * * * * *  
  
  
Ed and Dagen had excused themselves only a few moments before; Scully  
and Mulder were finally alone. Mulder wasn't sure if the men suspected  
that he and Scully needed time alone to discuss the situation, or if  
they really needed to check on 'things,' but whatever the reason, he was  
grateful for their absence.  
  
"So." The word echoed in the room.  
  
"So." She parroted the word back at him. The room was silent for several  
moments. Mulder's gaze had not left Scully, while Scully's eyes had not  
wavered from the floor below her feet.  
  
He acted first. "Scully I need to know what is wrong. I know that this  
is hard to accept--"  
  
"You don't know the half of it." Almost a whisper as she tried to avert  
his dark seeking eyes.  
  
"Then maybe you should fill me in."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Scully," he began again, "look, I know that this is hard, it's hard  
even for me to completely agree with. But the evidence they've shown  
us..." He trailed off.  
  
"The evidence they've shown us...what?" She finally at him, and stood  
there waiting expectantly.  
  
"I really didn't have an ending in mind. You usually interrupt me before  
I get that far." He smiled at her, hoping to coax a similar reaction  
from her.  
  
No such luck. She simply blinked several times, then gave him a long,  
hard look. The colors in his eyes changed, darkening with frustration  
and concern. He sighed, frustrated. "See, this is what I mean..." he  
half muttered under his breath.  
  
"What ever do you mean? I'm the same Scully that I've always been." Her  
voice was as flat as level ground, emotionless, and it hurt his ears.  
  
"How can you say that?" His voice boarded on incredulity.  
  
"How can I say that when it's obvious that I'm so different now, that is  
what you mean, right?"  
  
"No!" Too sharp. He did his best to smooth out his voice before speaking  
again. "That's not it at all. It's just...it's just, you're not acting  
like yourself. So much has happened, so much revealed, but you're hardly  
reacting. Where are your arguments? Your need to see the proof and know  
for sure it's the real thing?" He paused. "It's like... it's like you  
don't even care. And that just isn't you."  
  
"I do care. How can you possibly think that I don't? They did this to  
*me*. *Me* Mulder." With each word, her voice increased in volume and  
intensity. "They changed me into something else. They stripped me of my  
choices and now I'm nothing more than... a lab rat! A creature designed  
in a laboratory. I'm--"  
  
"Scully." He finished for her in an attempt to draw her back. "You're  
still Scully."  
  
Seconds ticked off as Mulder waited for her answer. The tension between  
them thickened like a fog, obscuring his sight and increasing his  
discernment. She finally spoke again. "If I'm still Scully, why are you  
afraid of me?"  
  
"Afraid? What are you talking about?" He was confused now. Afraid of  
her?  
  
"I can tell. You fear me, what I've become."  
  
Mulder was totally speechless. How could she possibly think that? "That  
is ridiculous... How could you even think that?"  
  
"Mulder, I can read you. I can feel the fear in you."  
  
"What...", he began. He knew, but he finished his question, "what are  
you saying?"  
  
"Just another one of those nice side effects of my *metamorphosis.*  
  
"I still don't--"  
  
"Understand?" she finished for him and looked directly at him. The hurt  
and disappointment was evident in her eyes, and it nearly undid him.  
  
How could she even think that? He could never be afraid of her. For  
her...maybe, but not afraid of her.  
  
"Mulder, I've been changed."  
  
"Yes, I know that." He didn't see her point. Maybe that was what the  
whole problem was.  
  
"Mulder, I can read your mind." There, it was finally out.  
  
The comment hung in the air, the word refusing to dissipate. Mulder  
stared straight ahead, as if reading the words over and over.  
  
He blinked. "Now?" He believed her.  
  
"Not quite thoughts," she amended, "but I can tell what you're feeling."  
  
"And I'm afraid of you?" He asked to clarify. He didn't think that he  
felt afraid; stunned, amazed, yes, afraid no.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"So you can read my thoughts?"  
  
She seemed to struggle with an internal conflict before finally  
speaking. "No, not like this."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I have to have contact with you, that seems to be the only way."  
  
Mulder thought for a moment. He raised his arm. "Touch me."  
  
The mere thought caused her to recoil. "I don't want to. I don't want to  
know."  
  
He continued to hold his arm up, and said it again, "Touch me." She  
raised her eyes to meet his, and they held it for nearly a minute  
without moving. Mulder felt like a silent battle of wills was being  
waged, and he hated it, but he also knew that she had to know the truth.  
  
He was just about to give up, to give in, when she reached to grab his  
hand.  
  
******  
Outside, Main Yard  
  
Ed found Allen outside playing with Pyka. He stood for a moment watching  
the absurd ordinariness of it. A man playing fetch with his dog. Except  
this was no ordinary man, and this was no ordinary situation.  
  
"Allen?" Ed asked as a way of announcing his presence.  
  
Allen glanced toward him. "I guess this means you've finished?"  
  
"You didn't know already?"  
  
"I did." He said with a shrug. "I was just trying to make conversation."  
  
Pyka, noticing that someone else was there to play, ran up to Ed and  
deposited a well-chewed baseball at his feet. She sat and waited  
expectantly. Ed took the hint and bent to retrieve the ball. Chuckling  
at her eagerness, he said, "You want me to throw the ball girl? Do you?  
Ok, here goes."  
  
He lobbed the ball, and both men watched silently as the ball flew in a  
high graceful arc across the enclosed yard. The silence was interrupted  
when the ball slammed into the fence. Its contact with the electrified  
barrier sent up a flurry of sparks. Pyka had the sense to wait for the  
ball to still, a few feet away from the fence, before grabbing it  
between her teeth to bring it back.  
  
The shower of electrical sparks seemed to trigger something in Ed. The  
intenseness of their situation suddenly hit him, as if he was the one  
slammed into the fence. He felt isolated out here in the wilderness, and  
it had nothing to do with being alone. He had been alone before, out on  
digs, out in land God had forsaken, but never like this. They were  
fighting for the world, winner take all...  
  
Allen spoke, interrupting Ed's thoughts, probably just as he intended  
to. "Nice throw. For a second there I thought it was going to clear the  
fence."  
  
"Yeah, like a homerun." Ed smiled.  
  
The joke fell flat, and Allen gave Ed a look that he didn't understand.  
It suggested regret and hinted at tenderness. Allen turned away.  
  
Pyka came running up and dropped the ball at Allen's feet, perhaps  
decided that he was the safer of the two. His throws didn't result in  
loud explosive sparks.  
  
Allen leaned down and picked up the ball. But instead of throwing it, he  
held it in his hand, studying it as if it held all the answers. "You  
ever play baseball?" He asked suddenly.  
  
Ed softly chuckled. "Not since I was a kid, and that was mostly just  
sandlot games with my brothers and the neighborhood kids."  
  
Allen never took his eyes off the ball. "My brother loved the game. He  
said that it was the only thing that really made him smile. I couldn't  
understand its appeal until recently, but by then it was too late." Pyka  
whined then, frustrated that Allen had not relinquished the ball to  
continue their game. Allen threw it, but instead of lobbing it high like  
Ed had, he kept the ball close to the ground. Like a skipping stone on a  
glass smooth lake, the ball hopped across the yard.  
  
A grounder, as far from a homerun as you could get.  
  
Ed's eyes widened slightly, Allen never mentioned a brother before. "Why  
too late?"  
  
"He died."  
  
Allen refused to expand, and Ed let the subject drop. "Are you ready to  
talk with them?"  
  
Allen nodded. "Yes, but they aren't ready for me. They need more time to  
digest the information."  
  
"How long?" Ed wasn't asking out of impatience, only curiosity.  
  
Allen shrugged his shoulders. "As long as it takes. It's not as if we  
can proceed if she isn't ready. She needs to feel." He added  
cryptically.  
  
"What do you mean, 'she needs to feel?'  
  
Again, the same shrugged shoulders. "Just that. She needs to feel. Right  
now there's nothing, not really. Just... cold. I can't explain it any  
other way." Pyka deposited the ball at Allen's feet, and he bent to pick  
it up.  
  
"Are you saying you can read her? I thought... I mean," Ed stammered,  
"if you can, then this whole thing won't work... everything hinges on  
that..."  
  
"It'll work." He smiled reassuringly to Ed, but his tone remained  
serious. "She's just so busy blocking herself that she can't block me."  
  
"Can we do anything about that?"  
  
"No, not us." He paused, and threw the ball again. This time it was a  
line drive. "I'm beginning to think that having Mulder here will be of  
great benefit."  
  
"Are you saying that *he* can do something?"  
  
"I think that they'll end up helping each other."  
  
Gusts of wind came up, sending a small cloud of dust whirling into the  
air. Pyka seemed undisturbed and plowed through to deposit the ball once  
more. Ed looked up to the sky, now growing dark with clouds full of  
rain. The smell of rain promised a storm to come.  
  
Ed wanted to question him further, but Allen had already turned away,  
indicating the conversation was over. He called over his shoulder, "Ed,  
how about I come get *you* when they are ready?"  
  
"I don't think that they will ever be fully ready. They aren't going to  
like what you have to say, Mulder especially."  
  
Allen sighed, "No, I don't imagine he will."  
  
******  
Conference Room  
9:08am  
  
Nothing happened.  
  
Scully had steeled herself against the expected inundation of images and  
thoughts and words, each leading to the conclusion that he was terrified  
of her, but there was nothing.  
  
She'd closed her eyes as her hand clasped Mulder's, but she opened them  
now. Mulder looked to her warily. "Can you read me?"  
  
"No."  
  
"No? But I thought that--"  
  
"Maybe I can control it. Maybe now I'm not forced to read thoughts each  
time I touch someone."  
  
"You don't know?" He asked, surprised.  
  
"And how would I know anything about what is happening to me? It's not  
as if I have a how-to guide to read to figure out what's going on with  
me."  
  
"But you've done this with the others, right? That's why you say we can  
trust them. This is why you aren't questioning them any more. You *know*  
that they're telling the truth."  
  
"Congratulations Mulder. I'll give you a gold star for figuring me out."  
  
"Scully, I'm not afraid of you, and trying to drive me away won't keep  
me from telling you that."  
  
She hated that voice. Mulder the psychologist talking. "Mulder, how can  
you say that? Stand there right in front of me and say that when I can  
clearly feel it practically radiate off of you?"  
  
"What I don't understand is how you can so clearly feel this so called  
fear of mine, and yet can't, or more likely won't see what I'm  
thinking."  
  
"It's a mystery I guess."  
  
Mulder looked away, frustration written in the furrows of his forehead.  
"Damn it Scully! Don't use this against me! I'm offering my mind to you,  
does that sound like someone who is afraid of you? It sounds like you  
are the one who is afraid." The challenge was in his voice, would she  
have the courage to meet it?  
  
They just looked at each other. The stare stretched into seconds, then  
moments, long, still, quiet moments on the outside, but clamorous where  
emotions were housed.  
  
"Fine." That single word rattled against his spine. "Give me your hand."  
She demanded.  
  
He gave it to her, and their hands grasped tightly to the other, almost  
painfully.  
  
-Flash-  
  
"...is this working... i feel like saying testing one two  
three...anybody out there... how can she think that i'm afraid of  
her...still scully... always be scully to me... what's the plan ...what  
are they going to do with scully... with me... will we get the  
answers... how could they have done this... we still don't know why...  
what was the plan... what is it now... yes, maybe i am afraid... afraid  
of what will happen... so happy to see her... this shouldn't have  
happened... should have been me... wasn't her quest, until i forced it  
on her...should've gotten her out of my life years ago, before it became  
hers... but i was selfish i wanted her in my life i needed her, even if  
she didn't need me... i remember before, before her... but only as one  
would remember a bleak and distant nightmare... i never wanted to go  
back to that... i should have, shouldn't have sacrificed her for my own  
happiness... yes, afraid... afraid of what was done to her... afraid of  
what will happen--"  
  
"...but not of me?"A soft voice broke through Mulder's thinking. So  
soft and almost childlike in it's need for reassurance.  
  
"...never you scully... never you... is this how it is... is this how  
it is when you do this..."  
  
"...no, not like this... the others couldn't hear me... only you...  
the last time with you was different too..."  
  
"...last time... i don't remember last time..."  
  
"...last time... in my apartment... you were asleep... do you remember  
the dream..."  
  
"...the beach..."  
  
-Flash-  
  
With that single word, they found themselves on that beach, standing  
bare feet in the sand, side by side, facing the waves that came crashing  
in. It was so realistic. Scully could feel the wind ruffle her hair, and  
taste the salt on her lips from the light spray that hissed up with each  
incoming wave. The tide was coming in and the water began to pool at  
their feet.  
  
Mulder turned to face her. "It's not like this with the others?"  
  
"No, nothing like this. This..." she looked around to take in the  
surroundings, "this is only with you."  
  
"Maybe I just have a really active imagination." He smiled.  
  
Scully smiled back at him. "That must be it. I don't know why this is  
different with you. Maybe because I know you and I don't know the  
others."  
  
"But it is working now, right? You can read my thought?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Am I afraid of you?"  
  
Pause. "No."  
  
"Then what was all of that about?"  
  
"I don't know. I can still feel it here." She could. It seemed that  
with every incoming wave came just a bit more of the fear. Like the sand  
that being deposited with the waves, the sand that was beginning to hide  
her feet.  
  
"Why did you think it was me?"  
  
She shrugged her shoulders and turned away from him. "Who else could  
it be?" she said quietly.  
  
"There is another possibility."  
  
She turned back to look closely at him, studying him and his thoughts.  
"Me. You think that it's my fear that I'm feeling?" She laughed  
nervously, dismissing the idea almost immediately. "You think that I'm  
so detached from my emotions that I don't know what I'm feeling? You  
think that I would project my feelings to you like that?"  
  
"You've been through a very stressful situation here, it is  
possible--"  
  
She interrupted him harshly. She simply did not want to hear it.  
"Don't start playing psychologist with me here. I am fully capable of  
figuring out my own emotions and--" Her voice cracked, and she lost  
her train of thought.  
  
Mulder watched as she bent at the waist and grabbed a handful of sand.  
Without saying anything, she began to pour the sand from one hand to the  
next. With each pass, more sand escaped from between her fingers; until  
finally, she was left with empty hands. Sand wasn't the only thing that  
was slipping through her fingers, she felt as if her hold on sanity was  
just as precarious as the ever-shifting sand. She stood there, feeling  
as if she'd been cut adrift- alone, floating. Unattached to anyone or  
any thing around her.  
  
It seemed to Mulder that she stood at the edge of a precipice,  
teetering, gazing down to the rocks below. All he could do is stand  
behind her and watch, helpless. He's afraid of what will happen to her  
if she falls.  
  
-Flash-  
  
The beach was gone.  
  
******  
Mulder opened his eyes and found himself back in the conference room.  
Scully had disconnected from him, and had moved across the room. She was  
shivering. Her arms were wrapped around herself, and there, in the  
middle of the warm room, she was shivering.  
  
He immediately knew what was happening. All of this time she had managed  
to keep everything bottled up. She had detached herself from the fear  
and uncertainly, from the terror that accompanied her from the moment  
Diana awakened her.  
  
Mulder went to her and put his arms around her. She tried to pull away,  
but the effort lacked force. "Accept this," he urged softly. "Accept  
what I can give you. Please. For my sake as much as your own." He felt  
her nod against his chest, and then the sobs began.  
  
His voice was quiet and gentle. "It's ok, it's ok. Let it out Scully.  
Let it all come out." She nodded, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth  
from chattering. She didn't pull away from him now, instead she trembled  
even more violently, and one of her hands clamped onto his upper arm  
with such fierceness that Mulder had to stifle the impulse to push her  
hand away.  
  
He stroked her face, and continued to make soft, comforting noises.  
Letting her know it was ok to be afraid, to be terrified of all that  
happened, and all that may happen. As he spoke, she drew herself closer  
to him, pressing against him and readjusting his arms so that he  
completely enveloped her. The trembling still convulsed her body. The  
tears rolled down her face, but she did not cry out loud. Her complete  
silence was almost eerie.  
  
Mulder didn't say anything further. He merely rocked her, back and  
forth, gently, letting his mere presence be something from which she  
could draw reassurance. And slowly, ever so slowly, the shaking  
diminished and eventually stopped. The tears ceased, and she brought her  
hand up and wiped away the remainder of the moisture.  
  
She pulled away from him, and he reluctantly let her. "I'm sorry," she  
said uncertainly, trailing off.  
  
"You have nothing to be sorry about."  
  
"I shouldn't have thought that about you. I know you better than that."  
She laughed, and it came out high pitched and pinched off. "You know,  
I've been called a cold fish before, but this is ridiculous. To be so  
removed from my emotions..."  
  
"Scully, this is not an ordinary situation..."  
  
She laughed. "No, no it isn't." She continued to wipe the tears from her  
eyes. "I'm sorry about this too." She held up her wet hand.  
  
"No, don't be. Scully, we're all that we have now. We have to rely on  
one other."  
  
"Hasn't it always been that way?" Scully asked.  
  
"Yes, I guess it has. And we've depended on each other all those other  
times, and we need to do it now."  
  
"Is this where I say, 'We've been through harder times than this, and we  
can get through this'?" She was not being entirely facetious; there was  
a touch of hope in her voice.  
  
"Now would be the time, if I thought that we'd been through harder times  
than this. But for some reason, I think that this will be the hardest  
thing that we will ever have to go through."  
  
****** 


	16. 16

Southwest Colorado  
800 years ago  
  
* * * * * *  
All men and women are born, to live, suffer and die; what distinguishes  
us one from another is our dreams, whether they be dreams about worldly  
or unworldly things, and what we do to make them come about... We do  
not choose to be born. We do not choose our parents. We do not choose  
our historical epoch, the country of our birth, or the immediate  
circumstances of our upbringing. We do not, most of us, choose to die;  
nor do we choose the time and conditions of our death. But within this  
realm of choicelessness, we do choose how we live. -Joseph Epstein  
* * * * * *  
  
The blazing sun mercilessly beat down on to the hard baked clay of the  
earth. The land seemed to absorb the white light from above, and  
radiated the light back to the boy's eyes. The colors all seemed wrong.  
The young boy rubbed his eyes, hoping that action would pull the colors  
back to their original hue.  
  
He opened his eyes. It was the same. The colors were much too bright.  
The red-orange of the earth glowed as if lit by a fire within; the  
cloudless sky too brilliant a blue. The green mass of pine and fir trees  
that covered the tableland rippled in the wind. He stared in amazement  
as the rest of the land followed the trees' example, and began to ripple  
as well. He closed his eyes again, trying to ignore the wave of  
dizziness that washed over him.  
  
He had to get his eyes off the endless horizon and focus on something  
near. He picked up the hallowed out eagle bone at his side and set to  
carving what would ultimately become a flute. His grandfather had been  
teaching him how to play, and it was time for him to create his own  
instrument. He worked carefully, making sure that each stroke, and each  
shaving was as it was supposed to be.  
  
The boy worked in silence for several moments, occasionally looking over  
the outcropping that he was stationed at, when he heard movement behind  
him. He rapidly stood and whirled on his feet, which didn't do much to  
calm the queasiness within him. He held his small carving knife in his  
hand and tensed, ready to act.  
  
He was met by his little brother's laughing face. "You call that a  
weapon? You couldn't kill a lizard with that." He motioned disparagingly  
at the small stone knife. He continued to laugh as he set his package on  
the ground.  
  
The older boy ignored the taunting and sat back on the ground, taking  
his previous position. "What do you want?" He spoke gruffly, trying to  
cover his embarrassment.  
  
The other boy sat down next to him. "Mother sent me to get you. She said  
that you'll get sun sickness if you stay out here much longer."  
  
"I can't leave. I have a very important job to do, one that I must take  
very seriously."  
  
His younger brother snorted. "Important? Ha! The only reason they told  
you to do this was because you were getting in the way of the *men*." He  
stressed the last word pointedly.  
  
As predicted, his inflection got the expected response from his older  
brother. "I *am* a man, and this is a man's job."  
  
"Maybe in a few seasons. Anyway, if you were a real man... why is he,"  
the younger boy pointed to the east of them, at another lookout, "why is  
he looking in the same area you are?"  
  
"I'm making sure that he is doing his job." The younger boy just looked  
at him a moment longer before a smile cracked his face and a stream of  
giggles poured out.  
  
The elder looked distastefully at the giggling boy next to him. "You  
laugh too much."  
  
"And you don't laugh enough. I like to laugh, it makes me feel alive."  
His brother didn't respond to his comment, so he continued. "So you  
aren't coming back with me?"  
  
"No, I have my job to do."  
  
The younger boy smiled at this news, unsurprised. "That's what mother  
figured you would say, that's why she had me take this." He twisted his  
torso and reached for the package he had set on the ground behind them.  
He pulled out a container filled with water and handed it over. The  
older boy eagerly took it from his grasp and gratefully drank the  
liquid.  
  
As he drank, his younger brother set into motion. He pulled out a woven  
blanket. "If we are going to stay out here," he tossed one end of the  
blanket out, unfolding it, "we need to get out of the sun."  
  
He pulled the refreshing liquid away from his lips. "We? I don't need  
you out here with me."  
  
"Sure you do. Who else will get you more water when you need it? Come  
on, help me with this." He stood up and pulled on his older brother's  
hand.  
  
The older boy sighed, hiding his smile. With a great show of reluctance  
he stood and helped his grinning brother.  
  
******  
The sweet smell of pine filled the air as night set in, brought by the  
night breeze that ruffled the needles on nearby trees that covered the  
hills that led to the canyon below. Looking out past the cliff and to  
the broad rolling forest below, the older boy could see the trees shift  
in the silver touch of moonlight.  
  
He looked down at his younger sibling, sleeping peacefully next to him.  
The young boy had kept his word and had restocked both their water and  
food supply so that the older boy could remain at his post. He'd done  
well, never complaining, even as his older brother sent him on even more  
useless and mundane tasks as the day progressed. Now exhausted, the boy  
slept upon one of the woven mats he had been sent to get on one of his  
many missions.  
  
The boy glanced in the direction of his home. He couldn't see it of  
course, the way that it was tucked into the sandstone cliff both  
protected it from the elements, as well as hid it from casual  
observation. But because he knew where to look, he was able to make out  
the radiant light from the numerous fires that warmed the hearths.  
Should he start a fire? No, he quickly brushed the thought away. It  
wasn't cold enough for that; the earth retained much of the heat from  
the midday sun. He looked up into the nearly full moon above him; it  
wasn't as if he needed the light either. Yes, they could do without a  
fire tonight.  
  
He lifted his now completed flute and brought it up to his lips. He  
played a few halting notes to test the pitch and tone of the instrument.  
After making a few moderate adjustments, he began to play. He played  
the melody that his grandfather had taught him. Once it was over,  
instead of stopping, he continued, improvising as he went. The melody  
changed, it took on a lilting quality, and seemed to fill the night. The  
song hung in the air, and seemed to softly float down to the floor of  
the canyon. The chirps and screeches had paused as he began to play, but  
after a moment, they started once again. It was not nature's way to  
remain silent. The player altered his song and incorporated the sounds  
and it all came together to form a chorus. Time slowed and spread. The  
notes of music moved apart without losing tempo.  
  
The boy closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling. This is what his  
grandfather was talking about. This moment when everything came  
together. He felt light, as if weightless, and relished this sensation.  
His pursed lips slightly turned up into a smile as he listened to the  
magic he was creating. His grandfather said the boy had a great gift and  
had done his best to foster it in his grandson.  
  
His music was halted, however, by a cry that filled the night air. The  
boy's eye flew open in surprise and he turned in the direction of the  
village, the direction the sound had originated. The boy looked to his  
sleeping brother and placed his hand on his sibling's arm. The young boy  
made a wordless mumble and tried to shrug lower into his makeshift bed.  
The older brother, now impatient, woke him with much less courtesy by  
yanking him to his feet.  
  
"What-what is going on?" His voice was thick with sleep. His brother  
didn't answer; instead, he began to lead the way back to the village.  
They began hurriedly climbing down one of the ladders that provided  
access to the cliff dwelling. Half way down, the boys paused to see what  
was happening. They looked down the steeply sloping cave floor with its  
rows of terraced stone and mud houses and open courts. Here and there on  
the lower rooftops were shadowy figures that also had been roused from  
sleep by the cry.  
  
Following the direction of their gaze, they saw to their left and a  
hundred feet below, a small campfire blazing in one of the open courts.  
The flickering light played over half a dozen figures huddled around a  
dark shape sprawled on the rock. Hushed voices and the occasional murmur  
of concern drifted up to them on the heels of the cool night breeze.  
  
"Come on." The older brother urged them forward. By the time they had  
arrived, several minutes later, things had become more settled, but the  
fear in the night air had dramatically increased.  
  
The boys wandered around, and by hearing fragments of conversations,  
began to piece together what had taken place.  
  
A scout had returned from his mission. Only one of the six who had left  
several weeks earlier. The scouts were the ones the boys had been  
looking for, because they had been over due to return. The scout had  
managed to slip in to the village under the cover of the night unnoticed  
by the boys or the other look outs. He had made it to the outside of  
his lodging before collapsing. It had been his wife who had discovered  
his emaciated and scarred body and cried out, alerting everyone else.  
  
The scout hadn't been able to speak before surrendering to  
unconsciousness. Several men, under the orders of the Healer, carried  
the man down into one of the circular, ceremonial chambers that were dug  
below the courtyard. The Healer disappeared through the rooftop entry to  
begin the healing process.  
  
The village waited quietly; no one would be getting anymore sleep that  
night. Small groups of people sat clustered together throughout, some  
speaking in soft tones, others not speaking at all.  
  
The two boys sat next to each other close enough to the entrance that  
they could hear what was taking place, but yet not close enough to be  
shooed away. As the smoke from the fire rose through the entrance hole,  
the rhythmic beats of the drum began to lead the healing song.  
  
******  
The sky was beginning to lighten when the drums halted. The sudden  
secession of the beat stirred the people as silence filled the air.  
Moments later men emerged from the hole in the earth and were met by  
several anxious women.  
  
He would survive, they said, but he hadn't awaken yet. It might be days,  
it might be hours, no one could be sure when he would awaken, or even if  
he had any information to provide.  
  
And the waiting continued.  
  
******  
The scout woke several hours later, and a meeting of the village leaders  
was held. They gathered in the largest of the ceremonial chambers.  
Although it was the largest, the men moved restlessly as they sat  
together on the cramped built in benches. But there was no complaint;  
what the scout had to say was far too important to miss.  
  
The scout sat in the center, on the stone floor where the fire would  
normally be burning, all eyes directed on him. He looked drawn and weak.  
He hadn't yet recovered fully, and he shifted uncomfortably on the hard  
ground.  
  
The Chief Elder began to speak and all the men in attendance quieted  
down so that he could be heard. "We need to hear what he saw." He paused  
as he turned to the scout. "Please, tell us what you witnessed."  
  
The scout hesitantly looked around to all of the eyes silently boring  
into him, waiting for his response. Nervously he began to speak. "It  
took us two days and nights to travel to the place of bright lights.  
When we arrived we decided to split into two groups; one of us would  
approach from the west, the other from the east. My group approached  
from the west."  
  
"What did you see?" Someone interrupted, impatiently.  
  
"I saw... I don't have words to describe it...It was this..." He  
struggled. He moved his arms futilely, trying to show what he had seen.  
After struggling for a few more moments, inspiration struck. He began to  
speak excitedly. "I know, I'll show you." He cleared of an area off the  
ground immediately before him and began to use his finger to draw in the  
black ashes of past fires.  
  
The men shifted impatiently, each trying to view the diagram. It was a  
large circular object with various designs on it. "This is what we saw.  
There was this," he pointed to the circle, "and all around it were  
bright lights, bright as the sun, but they came from inside this. And it  
was very, very large. At least as big as this village. And these beings,  
these beings came from it."  
  
Murmurs of disbelieve rippled over the men. The scout looked around.  
"I'm telling the truth, this is what we saw."  
  
The Elder spoke. "Continue."  
  
"We saw the others, the ones that have been missing...but they were  
different somehow. It's hard to explain...they were there, but you they  
weren't. They seemed empty...as if..."  
  
"What?" Someone called out, impatient.  
  
"It was as if their sprits were taken, leaving only the bodies behind.  
The group that I was with was further away than the other scouting  
group. Two from the other group reached those who had been missing and  
tried speaking with them, but the two scouts were ignored. And  
then... and then...the evil spirits came out. I couldn't see clearly  
what happened next, except that we knew the two men who had approached  
fell to the ground motionless. When this happened, the man who had held  
back attacked. He was able to stab one of these beings with a spear,  
right were the heart would have been, but it did not fall." He paused  
solemnly before speaking again, voice dramatic as he met the other  
men's eyes. "I do not believe it had a heart. It did not fall, but the  
man did, as if he was the one struck."  
  
The scout hesitated once more, seemingly at a loss for words. The Elder  
spoke again, prompting him. He began once more. "And then the spirit,  
the evil spirit, the one that had been wounded, turned and looked  
directly at where we were hiding, and I saw it straight on for the first  
time. It was like us, but not. It had two arms, and two legs, but the  
resemblance ended there. It was small, thin of limbs, but it's head was  
huge, twice that of a man's. And the eyes...so big...and they stared  
right at us. They wanted our spirits as well."  
  
The scout stopped again. When he was able to speak once more, his voice  
was thick with emotion. "It knew that we where there. And I watched,  
helpless. All of us were...." He trailed off ashamed. He had been unable  
to do anything, to act in any way to save his comrade. He continued  
slowly in a low tone. "None of us could move. And then I saw the wound."  
The men nodded, encouraging him to finish his story. "I saw the wound  
heal itself up. One minute there was a gapping hole in its chest, the  
next it was completely gone. That is when we stared to run. After that,  
I didn't see anything else."  
  
"What about the others that were with you?"  
  
The scout shook his head and raised his shoulders helplessly. "They were  
with me in the beginning, but we became separated. I never saw them  
again."  
  
Several moments of silence passed, and the men began to speak all at  
once. Voices clamored over each other, each struggled to climb to the  
top to be heard.  
  
"What do we do now?"  
  
"What is there for us to do? We can't stop evil spirits."  
  
"So we just sit back and let them do what they did to the others? Or  
have you already forgotten?"  
  
The man's words were harsh and full of emotion as he turned to the man  
who had said this. "My son was one of those taken. How *dare* you imply  
that I have forgotten--"  
  
They were interrupted by a curt, "Stop this now." by the Elder. The  
other men stopped speaking. There was silence as they waited for the man  
to speak once more.  
  
"What we will do is fight them. That is the only choice we have. We will  
not let them take us quietly. We must prepare."  
  
* * * * * *  
The battle, if one could call it that, was brief but brutal.  
  
The fighting men were quickly dispatched.  
  
The rest of the village was taken with ease.  
  
* * * * * * 


	17. 17

Resistance Headquarters  
Conference Room  
10:40am  
  
* * * * * *  
Truth, bitter truth. -- Danton  
* * * * * *  
  
"What are we going to do?" Scully had had enough time to recover her  
composer. Her eyes were still tinged red, but the tear-streaked cheeks  
she'd worn were erased.  
  
She and Mulder stood close, not quite touching and they looked into each  
other's eyes without hesitation. "We find out what the plan is. What  
they intend to do. I don't think that they would have gone to all of  
this trouble without a good reason."  
  
"And what if we don't like this plan? What will we do then? It isn't as  
if we have a lot of options here."  
  
Mulder sighed. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, admitted, "We don't have  
very many, do we? I guess that's something that we'll just have to deal  
with as it comes." He paused, as he considered his next words. "Scully,  
do you think... do you think that you could try to read them? I mean, it  
is a valuable tool..." His voice trailed off as he saw her expression.  
'Tool' was not the right word. Not the right word at all. He quickly  
corrected himself. "I mean," he stammered, "since you have this gift,  
you might as well use it."  
  
Scully looked away from him. "I don't know if I would consider it a  
gift." She spoke these words softly. She looked up, back to his eyes.  
She studied them for a moment, and this time her words came out much  
stronger. "But I know what you mean. This is something that I have now,  
and I might as well use it." Pause. "I'm just not sure I want to know  
everything."  
  
He took a step closer, now fully inside her personal space, and pulled  
her hand up between them. "I'm afraid of what we'll find out as well."  
They stood like this for several moments, both seeming to draw strength  
from the other. Only the sound of the door handle turning in the quiet  
room caused them to move. Scully pulled away from him, and he let her.  
  
Mulder tried not to feel disappointed as she moved to meet the men now  
entering. Mulder followed her to the doorway as the men entered. There  
was someone else besides Ed and Dagen, and he entered last. He was a  
tall slender man with tan skin and long black hair held back by a simple  
string.  
  
The three men stood in front of Mulder and Scully, and it was Ed who  
spoke first. "Mulder, Scully, I'd like you to meet Allen. Allen, these  
are Agents Mulder and Scully." Allen held out his hand and Mulder shook  
it. Allen hesitated slightly before reaching for Scully's hand. They  
faced each other for a fraction of time so small it was barely  
measurable. Their hands were locked together for several moments before  
Allen disengaged. His face had maintained a carefully neutral mask, but  
Scully was now wearing a frown.  
  
Mulder dipped his head to ask if she's all right, and her answering nod  
completed the exchange of non-verbal conversation. Mulder matched  
Scully's frown, but decided not to say anything. "I'm guessing by your  
presence Allen, that you have something to tell us. Am I right?"  
  
"You would be correct. Please," Allen motioned to the table, "why don't  
we all sit down." They sat and waited for Allen to begin.  
  
"I really don't know how else to put this, so I'll just be blunt." Allen  
leaned forward onto the table. "I am an alien, or practically an alien."  
Mulder glanced at Scully and held her eyes for several seconds. Had she  
discovered this when she shook his hand? No, there was surprise in her  
eyes, surprise that matched his.  
  
Allen continued, and motioned to himself. "The form that I have  
currently taken is my original one, at least what it would have looked  
like had I been an adult. However, I'm able to change my appearance at  
will." As he spoke, he began to change into the familiar form of the  
bounty hunter. Both Mulder and Scully instinctively reached for their  
weapons, only to be painfully reminded of their absence.  
  
Allen noticed both their movements as well as their sharply in-drawn  
breaths and quickly changed his form back. "I'm sorry about the parlor  
tricks, I just wanted you believe me. We haven't met before today, but  
you have met others of my kind. The form I just showed you is the one we  
assume during our interaction with your kind. Wouldn't want to confuse  
the natives." He smiled without humor. He looked down at his current  
form. "This is what I looked like when I was human and lived as one of  
you approximately 800 years ago. I was a part of a large group that is  
now known as the Anasazi." Mulder turned to Scully, eyebrows raised.  
Allen continued. "800 years ago we were infiltrated by the aliens. This  
was discovered; we fought them, but we were unsuccessful. Those that  
survived the conflict were incorporated with the aliens. I was one of  
them."  
  
"It wasn't until many years later that I discovered the reason behind  
the attack. The aliens as a race were dying. They'd lost the ability to  
reproduce, and they believed that by incorporating our genetic stock  
with theirs, it would save them."  
  
"And it did help, but it soon became apparent that it was only a stop  
gap measure. Our material was not good enough. We weren't close enough  
to them genetically to be of great value, so we were infected so that  
the material could be changed." Allen smiled ironically. "Lucky us. But  
the changes didn't happen quickly enough. We are still genetically  
closer to you than to the aliens and they have not been able to use us  
as they had originally planned. That's why your scientists have been  
working to come up with a way to create one of them out of one of you."  
  
"That's what they've been working on all of these years?" Mulder thought  
for a moment before asking his next questions. "Why did these scientists  
work for them in the first place? Why go through all of this? If, as you  
claim, they were dying, why did those men choose to work for them? Why  
not just let them die?" Mulder asked.  
  
Allen looked Mulder straight in the eye and simply said, "They didn't  
choose."  
  
If it was possible, the air in the room got heavier, thickening to the  
consistency of pea soup. All waited expectantly for Mulder to ask the  
question that they wanted him to ask. "What do you mean?" Yes, he was  
easier to train than a dog.  
  
Allen spoke again, and his unexpected question caught Mulder off guard.  
"Mulder, have you been told why your sister was taken?"  
  
Mulder spoke somewhat haltingly, surprised by the sudden change in  
topics. "I've been told several things. I'm not sure what to believe  
anymore. I was told that she was given up so that she and the others  
could be saved. Another told me that it was necessary so that we could  
receive an alien embryo. The aliens used her and the other family  
members as bargaining chips, to ensure that we cooperated. If we didn't,  
we would never see them again."  
  
Allen shook his head ruefully. "Lies, I'm afraid. But I'm sure that you  
aren't terribly surprised by that, are you? You've been lied to for so  
long."  
  
"Are you saying you know what really happened to her?"  
  
"I do." Allen nodded. The look of regret on his face clearly showed that  
he wished he didn't know the answer. "These men did not need anything to  
ensure their cooperation." Another pause. With each second that ticked  
by, the knot in Mulder's stomach tightened. He knew, he just knew that  
he was not going to like what was coming.  
  
"Your father, and the others, were infected with the oil. The aliens  
were unconcerned about whether or not they would cooperate because the  
men simply did not have a choice in the matter."  
  
Allen continued. "I know that this is disturbing, but I would think that  
you would find some comfort in the knowledge that your father and the  
rest of these men were not acting of their own volition. Your father had  
been a good man, before."  
  
"Yeah, that makes all of this much better." Mulder looked down to  
his lap. Scully had found his hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  
  
"There is more."  
  
"There is?"  
  
"I'm afraid so." Allen nodded in the direction of Ed and Dagen. "I  
understand that these men have explained what changes occur when  
infected?" The agents nodded. "These changes occurred in your father,  
and these were passed on to his children," he added significantly.  
  
The ramifications of this news rebounded as quickly as echoes in  
Mulder's head. "But... I thought that the offspring were born  
infected...Are you saying...?" He stammered. The words were thick and  
hard to form.  
  
"No, you aren't infected. It's only passed from mother to child. Your  
mother wasn't infected when you were gestating."  
  
Seconds ticked off as Mulder internalized this information. "Where does  
this leave me?"  
  
Allen answered. "You were, well, you were unique. You and Jeffery  
Spender are the only ones of your kind. Infected fathers; uninfected  
mothers. Cassandra and Jeffrey were both used as test subjects but you  
weren't tested at all. You were kept as a control. I suppose they wanted  
to see how you would develop without interference. Maybe it was simply  
curiosity, or maybe they just weren't sure what they should do with you.  
Of course, it was always assumed that at some point you would be  
recruited into the program."  
  
"But if I am what I am, wouldn't I display some changes?"  
  
Scully spoke and squeezed his hand. "But you do. You of all people  
should be aware of your abilities. Your intelligence, your memory, your  
innate ability to profile others, to 'get in their heads', your amazing  
leaps of logic that always seem to be accurate."  
  
Mulder found himself nodding in agreement as Scully listed each item.  
Yes, in some kind of perverse way, it all made sense.  
  
"And don't forget the physical changes." Allen added.  
  
"What physical changes?" He said, alarm in his voice and then a sudden  
wave of guilt followed. He shouldn't be afraid, he shouldn't be afraid,  
after all, Scully was changed too, and she was ok. "Keep telling  
yourself that, Mulder, maybe you'll come to believe it eventually."  
  
"Well, granted, there are not as many...but they are significant. When  
was the last time that you were sick?"  
  
"I don't get sick."  
  
"My point." Allen turned to Scully. "Scully, as his partner and his  
doctor, you know how many times he has cheated death. Things that should  
have killed him, things that would have killed anyone else, he's  
survived. And after he was healed he didn't exhibit any lingering side  
effects. Always back to normal."  
  
She nodded thoughtfully. "True."  
  
Dagen spoke up then. "There is an added wrinkle to all of this. You've  
always been more advanced, you were born that way, but your recent  
treatment that we gave you, what saved your life," He stressed, "is what  
Scully went through, with the same results. This couldn't be helped. We  
had to treat you and this was the only way we had. You were reacting so  
negatively to the foreign DNA and the only way we could halt his  
deteriorating health was by having his body create this DNA as well."  
  
"So I've been changed as well..." It was not a question. Mulder could  
now understand why Scully had retreated from her feelings. Feeling  
nothing would feel so nice right now. To just escape this sense of  
helplessness, betrayal, loss of control for a moment.  
  
Mulder felt Scully's hand move from his own hand to his forearm,  
interrupting his thoughts. "Probably just as she intended." He  
turned to look at her, and she smiled. For a moment he let that smile  
become his world and he let himself enjoy it. But then a wave of guilt  
came crashing down on him. He'd been so worried about himself, so damned  
focused with his own problems that he neglected to ask the question that  
he had been asking his whole life.  
  
"What happened to Samantha."  
  
"I mentioned that your mother was not infected when you were gestating,  
however..." Allen paused, "...however...she was when she had your  
sister."  
  
Mulder was barely able to get the next words out. "My mother...?  
How...when?"  
  
"Your mother was infected soon after you were born. Your sister was born  
infected. She, along with the others like her, were taken because they  
were the first generation of the changed."  
  
"What was done with them?" Mulder asked. "I don't want to know, but I  
have to. I have to know."  
  
"Tests...tests and more tests."  
  
Several moments passed. Quietly Mulder asked, "Where is she now?"  
  
"She's with them, on one of the ships. She's been raised as one of them.  
She has no real memories of her life with you."  
  
"But she's alive?" Hope crept into his voice.  
  
"If you want to call it that..."  
  
* * * * * *  
Roswell, New Mexico  
52 years ago  
  
The burly figure fanned out the newspaper he held in his hands. The  
title read: 'The All Stars play the Roswell Grey's at Bottomless Lakes  
State Park this Evening.' Underneath the headline was a picture of one  
of the Grey team members. The caption beneath was: 'Can Exley break the  
Babe's record?'  
  
The figure folded the paper back up with irritation. "Damn game. All  
of this for a damn game." He thought with disgust. Out of the corner  
of his eye, he saw the yellow and red team bus pull up to the curb. He  
placed the folded paper underneath his arm.  
  
When the ballplayer that he was waiting for stepped off the bus, the two  
made eye contact.  
  
The second man, the dark skinned one, turned to his companion who had  
just gotten off the bus as well. "Arthur, I have some things I need to  
take care of now. I'll catch up with you later."  
  
His companion paused. "Ex? Are you sure?"  
  
The dark skinned man nodded. "He's my family; I need to speck with him."  
He dismissed his companion with an 'I can take care of this myself' wave  
and approached the waiting figure.  
  
They began to walk instep next to each other. Neither wished to break  
the silence that separated them. Finally the ballplayer spoke. "I guess  
this means that you have found me."  
  
The first man nodded curtly. "Yes. We have tolerated your irreverent  
behavior for far too long. It is time to stop this acting human nonsense  
and come back to your true family."  
  
"They ain't my true family." He said with loathing.  
  
"And they are?" The husky man motioned to the rest of the men exiting  
the bus, disgust seeping through his words.  
  
"Why? Why does it matter if I come back? Am I doing something harmful by  
being amongst them? As long as no one finds out--"  
  
"They will find out. The longer that you're with them, the more likely  
that they'll discover your true nature. You've already put the project  
at risk; I now have to clean up the mess that you have created. All  
because of a game." When he spoke his voice filled with contempt.  
"Remember, you can look like them, but that does not mean we can *be*  
one of them. You have to remember that. Always keep that in mind."  
  
Chastised, the dark skinned man looked down to the ground and murmured a  
soft, "I do."  
  
Several minutes passed as they walked in silence. The dark skinned man  
spoke. "Brother, when was the last time you laughed?"  
  
"Laughing is hardly relevant." He said tersely.  
  
The ballplayer's next words were almost undecipherable in their  
softness. "You should try it sometime. I guarantee you'll feel alive."  
  
"I feel alive." His low, leaden voice faded to silence.  
  
The dark skinned man stopped, and cast a sidelong glance to his  
companion. The figure's mind was closed off to him, and he was unable to  
get an impression. He finally turned and faced the figure next to him.  
The dark skinned man studied the other's face for a moment, trying to  
read him.  
  
He finally spoke, still looking intently. "You really believe that,  
don't you?" His voice was filled with a profound sadness.  
  
The stout man spoke, ignoring the question. "I've come to bring you  
back. You know this. And you should be thankful that they sent me. The  
other's wish to kill you for this betrayal."  
  
"And I thank you for that, brother." But his words lacked conviction.  
  
The other man continued. "I can only protect you so long...You know the  
consequences if you don't come with me."  
  
"Well aware."  
  
* * * * * *  
The dark of the night was chased away by the brilliant lights that shown  
above, as well as the lights from automobiles that edged the baseball  
field. Two teams, one of light skin, the other of dark, stood on the  
grassy field and played a game of ball.  
  
A dark skinned man stood at the home plate, bat in hand, and grin on  
face.  
  
The man who knelt behind the plate, clad in various protective gear,  
spoke. "Hey, Ex. I heard the Yankees have been calling you."  
  
"I'm fine playing here in the Cactus leagues. It's nice and quiet." The  
ball whiffed past and into a cactus plant behind him.  
  
The man behind the plate spoke again. "Gee, I don't know, Ex. The Yanks  
could use those 60 home runs a year. Well, now that, uh, Jackie  
Robinson's up there in the Bigs people are saying you're going to be  
next. The first black Negro man of color in the American League. Shoot,  
Ex, you'll be famous, man."  
  
His grin vanished, and his voice became serious. "I don't want to be no  
famous man. Just want to be a man." The ball was pitched again, and this  
time the man with the bat connected. The ball flew up into the night  
sky, and disappeared amongst the stars. He looked to where the ball  
had last been seen, and softly whispered, "Sixty-one.", before he was  
lifted onto the shoulders of his teammates.  
  
He joined in the celebration until he noticed something in the distance.  
"He's found me.". There was no fear, no real sadness, in this  
thought. Instead a calm settled over him. This was it. The defining  
moment in his life; he'd made his choice, and he would accept the  
consequences of it. And he relished that idea. It was his choice. He  
wasn't sure when his free will had returned, but he was not about to  
give it back now.  
  
From the direction he had been looking in came a group of horsemen  
outfitted in white sheets, each carrying rifles.  
  
One of the men on the field addressed the horsemen. "What do you boys  
want? We're just playing a baseball game, here."  
  
The leader of the white clad men spoke. "We got no beef with you, sir.  
It's that black Babe Ruth hiding behind you. Josh Exley. That's all we  
come for."  
  
"Well, you can't have him." Another man spoke up.  
  
The man on the horse continued. "We heard the Yankees want to let a  
Nigger play ball so we just figure we're going to play with him a little  
bit first." He paused to take a breath. His next words carried over the  
entire ball field. "Now, all you Niggers and Nigger-lovers! You can go  
home! It's Ex we want."  
  
Before he could continue, however, he was knocked off the horse by a  
well-placed ball to the head. Other riders soon followed him to the  
ground. The baseball players quickly took the rifles away from the dazed  
horsemen and faced the remaining riders.  
  
A ball player spoke again. "You boys ain't so tough without your  
shotguns, are you, fellows?"  
  
A player knelt down next to the leader who had been the first to be  
knocked off the horse. The player addressed the fallen form laying  
unmoving on the ground. "You ain't nothing but a coward." He spat with  
disgust on the sheet covering the leader's head. "Hiding behind your  
mama's bed sheet. Let's see your face." He pulled the hood away and with  
shock obvious on his face, stumbled away from the figure. "Holy mother  
of..." His voice trailed off as he stared with disbelief at the gray  
faced being now revealed.  
  
The creature was obviously disorientated. Its large eyes blinked several  
times, seemingly unable to focus, as it slowly turned its large head  
from side to side.  
  
The players regained control of their motor skills and began to clear  
the field. Only one stayed behind, the one who had known the other was  
coming for him. He stood and waited for the creature on the ground to  
revive.  
  
The rider's gray face morphed into a human face. Standing up, he faced  
the dark skinned man before him. He hit a switch to extend the stiletto  
weapon. "It's over."  
  
"I know." The ballplayer understood the ramifications of his choice.  
  
"I warned you. You didn't listen. Now you die."  
  
The dark skinned man shrugged his shoulders. "It's the right thing to  
do."  
  
"What do you know of the right thing to do? You-- who would risk  
exposing the entire project for a game? A game!" The rider said with  
frustration.  
  
He smiled sadly. "I hit a home run tonight."  
  
"A home run?" He asked incredulously.  
  
"Number 61. I set a record."  
  
Ignoring the comment, the rider spoke. "Show me your true face so you  
can die with dignity. As your executioner I show you my true face before  
I kill you." His human face returned to the alien one of before. He  
spoke again. "Show me your true face or you will die without honor."  
  
There was something almost like satisfaction in his eyes, and regret,  
but no fear. "This is my true face." He said, and turned and presented  
his neck to the alien.  
  
"So be it." With those words he drove the weapon into the base of his  
neck and let the body drop unceremoniously to the field beneath.  
  
* * * * * *  
The man saw the body hit the ground just as he opened his car door. "No!  
Stop!" He yelled as he got out of the car. He rushed to the fallen man's  
side. He pulled him into his lap and cradled him.  
  
The rider passed him on his horse as he ran out to the field.  
  
The man from the car spoke. "Ex?!" Concern and panic colored his voice.  
  
The ballplayer began to struggle. "No... Let me be! Let me be!" With  
desperation in his voice he yelled, "Don't. Get off me. Our blood is  
like acid to you people. Arthur, get away. Don't touch it."  
  
"It's just blood, Ex. Look. It's just blood." He held his red stained  
fingers out for him to see.  
  
Amazed and through teary eyes he simply said, "Wow." and began to laugh.  
  
* * * * * * 


	18. 18

March 7, 1999  
Resistance headquarters  
Hallway  
11:29am  
  
* * * * * *  
She is a friend of mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather  
Them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know,  
when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind. --Toni Morrison  
* * * * * *  
  
  
"Too much, this is all too much." Mulder's mind was beginning to  
overload with all of the startling, painful revelations that were coming  
to light. With each item revealed, it was as if another part of him was  
erased. Everything that he had known was an outright lie, more than just  
a manipulation of the facts. His father... his mother... Samantha...  
himself. He too was part of all of this, more so than he had ever  
imagined. The Cigarette Smoking Man's words came to him. "'You were  
always special Mulder. You always held a special place in the grand  
scheme of things...You're part of the future, what we will all  
become...'"  
  
Nothing in his life had been real, had been the truth. His very  
existence itself was a part of that lie.  
  
He felt Scully's hand on his elbow, walking beside him as he rushed down  
the hallway. No, he was wrong, he corrected. There was something in his  
life that had been real. Scully. She was the only thing in his whole  
goddamn life that was true.  
  
She was the only thing in his life that was true, and he had still  
managed to infect her life. Yes, 'infect' was the right word. His  
insidious need, his incessant thirst for the truth had driven both of  
them to this place.  
  
If only he had looked closer for the answers. He should have known...  
  
Mulder didn't know where he was going; he was just walking. All he cared  
was that he was moving, getting away from that awful room. The room had  
suddenly become far too small to contain him.  
  
Mulder stopped abruptly. He was completely lost. Each hall looked like  
the other, and he had not been paying attention as he was taking his  
random turns. He felt confused, dimmed, as if a blanket had been tossed  
over him. His vision faded; sounds became distant. He felt removed from  
the world.  
  
Scully could feel his hand searching for hers. Instinctively she reached  
out and latched onto it, bringing him back. He squeezed her hand  
tightly. If she let go of his hand, he thought he'd fly apart.  
  
He turned to her then, his eyes both pleaded and gave thanks, and he  
simply said, "Please help me."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Mulder's Room  
  
They sat on the bed Mulder had used the night before, and had woken up  
from less than 5 hours ago. They sat shoulder to shoulder, thigh to  
thigh, hands desperately clasped between them. Scully waited for Mulder  
to speak first.  
  
"Well." The single word hung in the silence of the room.  
  
"Well is right." She responded as if they were just shooting the breeze.  
  
"Is this what it feels like Scully?" He asked in a somber voice.  
  
"Is this what what feels like?"  
  
"Is this what it feels like to not want to believe? I can't believe.  
Because if I do..." His voice trailed off and he waved his hand vaguely  
in the air. The sentence did not need to be finished.  
  
"There's a fine line between skepticism and denial."  
  
Mulder dropped his head back down and nodded slowly, sadly.  
  
"Mulder..." She stopped, unsure how to finish, but feeling as though  
something had to be said. "Mulder... I'm sorry. About all of this,  
everything that you've gone through. I don't know how I can make this  
better..."  
  
"Just stay. Don't leave me." He asked in a small, frightened voice.  
  
For his answer, she simply squeezed his hand again.  
  
"Do you want to talk?" She asked, lightly stroking her hand against his,  
not sure what she wants his answer to be. She's afraid he will say no,  
close the door behind him as he enters into a dark chamber without her.  
Afraid he will say yes, tell her in a fragile, wavering voice of  
terrible things, things that she will not want to hear.  
  
Mulder was silent.  
  
"Mulder?"  
  
Mulder opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked at her with  
lost uncertainty behind his eyes. He couldn't find the words.  
  
"Can you show me instead?"  
  
He nodded, his expression of a drowning man reaching blindly for safety.  
  
She lifted the blockades in her mind to let Mulder in. He seemed lost;  
his thoughts too fragmented, disjointed, for her to read. His thoughts  
swam between them, hiding under rocks, disappearing in weeds. Scully  
fished for them, dangling her own like baits and lures. She was about to  
give up, when she found him, or he found her.  
  
She gasped involuntarily at the images that crowded into her. Not just  
images... sensations, emotions, all pounding through her, filling her  
and overflowing... and there was Mulder, and he was everywhere, and she  
could see him, and the scent of him, and the sound of his voice was in  
her ears... and everything was amplified a thousand times...  
  
"Too much. Too much. I can't take this any more. I need to get away  
from this." But her thought was catapulted aside by his before she  
could act in it. So she watched. So she experienced. And she saw it all.  
  
-Flash-  
  
His sister clad in braids looking up at him, playfully tugging his hand,  
wearing a mischievous grin. "Come on Fox. Come outside with me"  
  
-Flash-  
  
Mulder looking up through the eyes of a child at the man he called  
father. The older man towered from above with dispassionate eyes.  
  
-Flash-  
  
His mother's unfocused gaze as she spoke all too familiar words, "I  
don't remember Fox, it was all such a long time ago..."  
  
-Flash-  
  
Samantha's shrill voice calling over and over "Fox!" The image of her  
hovering in the air, motionless, like a marionette whose strings had  
been ripped off.  
  
-Flash-  
  
Scully's face, her own face, his hand lightly stroking her cheek.  
  
-Flash-  
  
Her form laying prone, eyes taped shut, ventilator breathing for her.  
  
-Flash-  
  
A bloodied napkin held to her nose; her words again; cold, calm, and  
dismissive: "I'm fine."  
  
-Flash-  
  
It continued, relentless. The images, the emotion...God, she could  
hardly take it. Images of his life, her life. The guilt, and anger and  
helplessness-- it was radiating from him, so suffocating and  
overwhelming that Scully visibly flinched. She heard his voice, dim  
within the cacophony of sounds reverberating within her head. "Fate.  
Destiny. Whatever it's called when you realize the choices you thought  
you had in life were already made..."  
  
Another image. Her face again, this time crying. But she was smiling as  
well. She felt her lips against his forehead. Her face again, leaning  
in, then "Ouch." It was quiet, barely audible really, but she felt her  
heart break in that moment. No...it wasn't her heart. It was his. She  
was beginning to have trouble differentiating herself from Mulder's  
conscious.  
  
-Flash-  
  
And then he was pulling away, the link broken with the force of cold  
water being splashed on her face. He stood up and took a few steps away  
from her. He placed his hands over his face. "I'm so sorry Scully. You  
have had enough grief in your life because of me... I won't let you have  
mine as well."  
  
She stood up next to him and brought her hand up and caught his hand in  
her own, drawing it down between them. "I'll be okay. I don't think that  
you should keep this to yourself. And I think... I think that I'm in a  
position to... understand somewhat what you have to deal with. You  
didn't let me get away with ignoring it, how can I let you?"  
  
When he turned to her, he could barely hold his head upright to keep his  
gaze level with hers. "I need you too much."  
  
"I don't think that there is such a thing as needing someone too much  
any more." She said softly.  
  
Mulder shook his head. He didn't want to believe her words.  
  
"Let me help you." She said as she pulled him to her.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
"I need you Scully. Save me, make me whole again."  
  
It was as if Scully sensed that need. Her hand moved to the base of his  
neck, as if feeling the throb of his pulse. She seemed everywhere to  
him: in his mind, in his soul, and when she spoke again it was with her  
hot breath caressing the inside of his ear. "We'll save each other."  
  
At this, Mulder opened his eyes and met her gaze, but this time he  
didn't look away. And yet, at that moment, with all the buildup in his  
mind, in his body, he didn't know that he would press his lips against  
hers until he actually did. Just a whisper, the faintest touch of lip  
against lip, but the light contact changed everything. He felt as if he  
had been blind for his entire life and at last his eyes were open. She  
was everywhere, in every pore, in every centimeter of his skin, in every  
aspect of his soul she was there...  
  
Only for a moment was the kiss a whisper before it changed and grew into  
so much more. No longer a whisper, it was lips on lips, mouths open,  
tongues exploring. The passion and the intensity built up from years  
past, emotions and memories shared and their souls intertwined  
threatened to shatter them to their core, but they refused to halt it.  
Wordlessly, they leaned into each other, falling gently back against the  
soft bed.  
  
There was no need for intellectualizing, no need for deep discussions.  
Nothing was said that couldn't be explained by soft, whispered words, or  
by the occasional faint gasp.  
  
Flesh and sprit, body and soul, all combined and permeated every inch of  
each other. In that moment, they knew all there was to know of each  
other, and instead of moving away from this fact, instead of resisting  
the pull, they gave in to it completely. They complemented each other,  
became each other, filling out each other's needs. And they rejoiced.  
  
* * * * * *  



	19. 19

  
Mulder's room  
2:18pm  
  
* * * * * *  
It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: but it would be a jolly  
Sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like  
Eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an  
ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad. --C. S. Lewis  
* * * * * *  
  
  
In the post-coital exhaustion that ensued, Scully dreamed.  
  
She stood at the edge of a river, expansive under the dark thunderous  
sky. In the distance, the far bank could be seen, but it was only a thin  
sliver of land, just at the edge of the water. An ominous fog obscured  
the rest of the land and Scully felt a chill pass through her. The water  
passed between, dark, tumultuous, and full of fury.  
  
"You have to cross."  
  
Scully turned in the direction the words came from. She wasn't surprised  
when she found her sister Melissa standing next to her. It seemed  
perfectly natural that she be there.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It's your responsibility."  
  
"My responsibility? Why is it me who must cross? Who decided this?"  
Scully flung her arm out toward the far bank. "I don't even want to go  
to the other side."  
  
"That's because you're afraid of what you'll find. That's why you don't  
want to cross."  
  
Scully laughed. "No, I just don't feel like getting all wet."  
  
Melissa gave her head a slight shake. "You can't fool me Dana. That  
isn't it. You've crossed rivers such as this before. You were afraid  
then, but not like now. Before, you had confidence and a strength within  
you to face it. This time you have doubts."  
  
Something in Melissa's tone reminded Scully of the know-it-all  
caterpillar in Alice and Wonderland and her next words came out sharper  
than she intended. "Of course I have doubts. What the hell do you think  
I've been through?"  
  
"Doubts of whether you'll succeed, that is to be expected. But this time  
is different. This time you doubt yourself."  
  
"I can do this. I can cross if I want to." Scully said, her stubborn  
streak initiated by her older sister's words.  
  
Melissa nodded. "Yes, you have to want to. That will be the key to  
everything. This would never work if you aren't willing."  
  
"I would be willing if I knew what I was crossing for. I don't even know  
if the outcome will be worth it. But I'm not afraid of the river."  
  
Melissa agreed. "You're right. This time it isn't the river. This time  
you welcome the river. You want to emerce yourself within it. You want  
to surround yourself in it and just forget, to just focus on the river.  
You don't want to think about what will happen when you get to the other  
side."  
  
"What will happen then?"  
  
"Once you cross the river, once you overcome it, and finally step onto  
the land on the other side, all you will be left with is yourself."  
  
The river shrunk then. It was only a finger's breadth now, a mere  
trickle; the other side was only an arm's length away.  
  
"You can step over Dana, and you'll be there. Just forget the river for  
now."  
  
Scully hesitated. She stared over to the other side, now so close that  
if she reached her hand out it would disappear into the haze. She didn't  
move her arm.  
  
"What's over there? What's on the other side? You know that I don't like  
to stumble blindly into the unknown."  
  
Melissa stared with solemn eyes. "You have to cross to find out."  
  
Scully continued to look across to the other side. The chill she had  
felt when she first looked on the dense fog returned, and she wrapped  
her arms tighter around herself. Finally, she turned to face Melissa.  
"Can you come with me?" she asked, her voice different now, smaller,  
less certain. She did not want to do this alone.  
  
Melissa shook her head. "No, this part must be on your own. For the  
crossing you will have help, in fact, that's the only way you will  
succeed. But this part, this part is for you alone. Crossing is the easy  
part." Melissa paused, and almost as an after thought, added "You know  
Dana, change isn't always a bad thing."  
  
Melissa began to fade before Scully, and her words seemed to be carried  
on the wind. "...change isn't always a bad thing..." Gathering the last  
reserves of courage she had left, Scully tentatively reached out her  
hand over the small trickle flowing at her feet. Her hand disappeared  
within the white cloud. Hesitating only a moment more, she steeled  
herself, and stepped over.  
  
She could see nothing, only a vague whiteness that encompassed her whole  
world. Carefully, Scully moved forward, advancing carefully, making sure  
of her footing before placing her full weight on her next step.  
Unexpectedly, the air cleared, and she could see her surroundings. She  
was in a lightly wooded forest. The pine trees towered over her, but the  
growth on the ground was sparse and she could move freely between the  
large plants.  
  
Minutes or hours later, she couldn't tell, she came to a small clearing.  
It was almost a perfect circle of rich, thick grass, and surrounding it  
were the trees. The sun shown brightly above and cast a warm glow on  
everything it touched. Lying in the very center of the circle was  
herself. Curious, but not really surprised nor alarmed, she walked  
closer to the identical form. Scully just instinctively knew that it was  
her, and did not question it.  
  
Her alter image lay on her back, hands folded neatly on her abdomen,  
seemingly asleep. But she wasn't asleep, --or maybe she was-- but that  
wasn't the reason the body remained motionless. Her alter ego was  
frozen, sealed tightly within a layer of ice.  
  
But the ice was melting. The brilliant sun above lent its radiance to  
those below and the ice was melting. Tiny rivulets of water coalesced  
like liquid light, and formed miniature streams that lead to the ground  
below. Fractures in the ice began to appear, and they spread like water  
droplet falling on a windshield, shattering the ice into thousands of  
pieces.  
  
Scully could see ice crystals scattered evenly across the body like a  
translucent lattice. Scully crouched over the form. She shifted on the  
balls of her feet and reached out her hand to the woman on the ground.  
She meant to brush off some of the ice fragments, but her hand passed  
right through. The body was gone. It had disappeared; changed form.  
Instead of a human body, thousands of butterflies had replaced it.  
  
Scully gasped in surprise and stood abruptly. The sudden movement  
started a chain reaction and the butterflies began to rise up as well.  
Scully stood as the mass of insects circled her, some landing on her,  
others just giving light feather kisses against her skin. They circled  
and spiraled around her, faster and faster until they created their own  
wind which caught at her hair and clothing and tugged them upward.  
Scully lifted her hands and tilted her head back. She felt lightheaded,  
as if she were the smallest drop of water, melting into the crystal  
weave, cracking it. As if some possession were being returned to her  
that she'd long forgotten she owned.  
  
She felt exhilarated.  
  
* * * * * *  
Usually, when Scully had dreams, she would awaken and sense the images  
flittering away to the far reaches of her subconscious. She never  
remembered them. This time she did. Some of the exchanges were already  
blurring to her, but the general thrust was still very vivid and potent.  
  
She shifted against Mulder, and the movement woke him. The shoulder  
under Scully's head was suddenly stiff, transmitting returning  
consciousness like electricity, but then just as quickly relaxed, as he  
became conscious of who was sharing his bed. He turned his head to  
nuzzle his nose in her hair, "Scully," he murmured, and kissed her on  
the top of her head.  
  
Scully lay across his torso with her cheek resting on his breastbone. He  
wrapped his arms around her protectively and propped his chin on the  
crown of her head. She moved her hands across his chest and combed her  
fingers through his chest hair. "We both fell asleep."  
  
"That we did." Mulder counted the seconds, like locating the distance  
between himself and lightening, before she spoke again. He had a feeling  
that what she was going to say was important to her, and by extension,  
important to him.  
  
"I read an article a few weeks ago that made me think of you. I was  
going to tell you about it, but things got kind of busy."  
  
"You could say that. Do you want to tell me about it now?"  
  
"There was research done, years ago, by a Czechoslovakian psychiatrist.  
For years his treatment included prescribing LSD to his patients. What  
he discovered through these treatments was that some of his patients  
began to regress in their own consciousness. He found that some of these  
patients re-experienced birth. And each of these patients recalled the  
same experience."  
  
"And what was this experience?"  
  
"They were afraid." She said simply.  
  
"Really? Afraid of what exactly?"  
  
"Afraid of being born I guess. Of leaving that familiar world behind."  
She paused as she struggled to come up with the correct phrase. "The  
psychiatrist described it very well, their experience." Her voice  
shifted and it was clear that she was reciting from her memory. "'With  
the rhythm of the uterus came the first emotion, that of terror. Then  
comes the horrific stage of getting born, the difficult passage through  
the birth canal.'"  
  
He looked at her, puzzled for a second, but then his expression grew  
thoughtful. "So your saying that fear is the first experience of the  
fetus in the womb?"  
  
"That is what this article was suggesting."  
  
"And this reminded you of me? How?"  
  
"LSD, Mulder?" All she had to do was glance up at him to send her  
message; she didn't even have to raise and eyebrow.  
  
Mulder smiled, acknowledging the truth behind those two simple words.  
"Ok, I can see that." Pause. "What made you think of it now?"  
  
"I was just thinking about change."  
  
"Change?"  
  
"Yes. Although the methodology of how the psychiatrist got this  
information is... unorthodox, when I think about it, it seems somehow  
true. His conclusions seem right."  
  
"Like there' a memory of your own somewhere in you?" He prompted.  
  
"No. It's not that. It rings true for me on an intellectual level. If  
you think about it, it... it just makes sense."  
  
Mulder absorbed the words for a moment. "That fear is the first  
experience of the fetus in the womb?"  
  
"That fear is the first emotion that every human being experiences.  
That's something that we share with everyone. We all fear change and the  
mystery that surrounds it. We all struggle against it."  
  
"Even when the outcome may be to our benefit." He finished for her.  
  
"We can't stay in the womb forever." She tilted her head back to look at  
him, searching his eyes intently. After nearly a minute of silent  
regard she dropped her head back to his chest. When she spoke her voice  
was so low he almost didn't catch the words. "Mulder, have we let our  
fear stop us from what we need to do?"  
  
"You tell me." He said carefully as his hands stroked slowly up and down  
along her spine.  
  
"I think we have. I think we have to help them."  
  
"Are you sure about this? We still know very little."  
  
"I know that they're telling the truth. I know that they're doing what  
they believe is best. And I also believe them when they say time is  
running out."  
  
"We should probably get up then, right?" Mulder offered reluctantly, but  
he did not make a move to get up.  
  
She pulled him closer. "In a minute."  
  
They stayed like that for several minutes, just listening to the other  
breathe, when Mulder spoke. "Scully, even though we know that fear of  
change is irrational at times, and one of the more baser instincts, I'm  
still afraid."  
  
"I know. So am I, but I think that is what makes us human. I would only  
be concerned if we felt nothing."  
  
* * * * * *  
Tunguska, Russia  
2 years ago  
  
The dark cover of night hid the muscular figure's approach. With only a  
mild grunt of exertion he disposed of the guard stationed on the  
perimeter of the facility. Looking down at the fallen form before him,  
the figure studied the man's face and changed into the guard's shape.  
Once completed he began to switch clothing.  
  
Moments passed and he reemerged, now playing the role of the guard.  
  
Another guard yelled. "Hey Olesky! Where the hell do you think you are  
going? You know that you can't leave your post."  
  
"I have to take a crap. Cover for me."  
  
The other man grumbled a reluctant agreement. "Ok, but you'd better be  
back in ten minutes. I'm not getting stuck like last time."  
  
"Stop worrying. I won't be long." The figure replied and made his way  
into the building.  
  
* * * * * *  
He entered the secured room without difficulty. The quiet hum from the  
machines and the softy gurgling from the large tanks lining the room  
were the only things that could be heard in the still night. The only  
light that illuminated the room originated from the tanks and cast the  
room with a greenish hue. Working by this light, he ignored the tanks  
and other equipment, and instead went directly to the refrigerator in  
the center of the room. Opening it, he discovered it filled with vials  
containing a dark green substance.  
  
Pulling out the sack that he had kept hidden in his jacket, he carefully  
placed vial after vial into it. He quickly emptied the refrigerator.  
Closing the bag securely and tucking it away, he exited the room.  
  
He left the building a few moments later and found the man who had  
relieved him. "See, less than ten minutes."  
  
The man looked surprised. "Now that's a first." They switched positions.  
"Have a nice night." He said as he headed back to the facility. His back  
was turned so he did not the figure disappear into the night.  
  
* * * * * *  
He sat on the cold hard ground, just staring at the vial he held in his  
hand. He knew what it was, and what its purpose was. He also knew what  
would happen if he took it.  
  
He didn't have much time, and he knew that this would be his only  
opportunity. Carefully he drew up the liquid into the syringe that he  
had also taken from the room. After only a moment's hesitation, he  
injected himself.  
  
Almost immediately the fog that had covered his consciousness and  
awareness was lifted, and the man who would be called Allen smiled for  
the first time in 800 hundred years.  
  
And the fight for humanity began.  
  
* * * * * * 


	20. 20

Resistance Headquarters  
Conference Room  
2:43 pm  
  
* * * * * *  
We will now discuss in a little more detail the  
struggle for existence.-- Charles Darwin  
* * * * * *  
  
Mulder needed to get up and walk around. To get out. To think about  
anything else. Unconsciously his mind began to escape and wander the  
halls back to when he'd been lying there, afterward, with a sleeping  
Scully curled up next to him, there'd been two thoughts that had run  
through his head. The first had been "Finally. Finally it happened,  
and the world didn't end." His next thought immediately following that  
one had come from his self-mocking side. "No the world didn't end, but  
it looks like that is where it's heading. Way to wait until the last  
minute, dumbass."  
  
But at that moment, that second thought didn't hold much weight. Holding  
a warm soft naked Scully in his arms could do that. He had even briefly  
chuckled at the idea, until his movement threatened to wake her. It just  
seemed so damn typical for them. As if they could do anything simply. Of  
course the world as they knew it would have to just have been turned  
completely around and with the promise of it being completely destroyed  
just around the corner. Of course, typical.  
  
But now, sitting back in the damn conference room, everyone discussing  
her hand over to the aliens, those words lost any humor they may have  
once had. The arms of their chairs separated him from Scully and the  
pale hand in his was a poor substitute for the complete length of her  
pressed against him. "The end of the world was right, the end of my  
world." Mulder's free hand bit into the arm of his chair and he  
swallowed down a hot surge of bile. He spoke, finally finding the words.  
"And what will this serve? Her hand over to them?" Mulder asked.  
  
Dagen leaned forward. "Access. We need to have access. We have a vaccine  
we can use against them."  
  
Scully furrowed her forehead slightly. "It was our understanding that  
the vaccine works on the oil, not on the person. How will this  
incapacitate them?"  
  
Allen answered. "I gave myself the vaccine; this was how I came to be  
free from its influence. Before they discovered my nature I was able to  
inject others. Those who had been infected more recently- and by  
recently I'm including myself even though that was 800 years ago-  
suffered no major consequences. However, the others, the originals, did  
not survive. With the destruction of the oil came their own death. The  
treatment works by selectively binding with and destroying specific  
segments of the oil. The aliens have been with the oil for so long that  
these segments have been fully incorporated into their genetic makeup;  
the oil is literally a part of them."  
  
"What about those who, like yourself, aren't killed? Will they be a  
threat?" Mulder asked.  
  
Allen shook his head. "At first I was worried. Worried that I was being  
presumptuous somehow. That they wouldn't want this, but I was wrong." He  
smiled slightly. "The moment that they felt the fog lift and their  
choices returned, they celebrated, as if..." Allen could not seem to  
find the right words.  
  
"As if something was returned to them that they'd forgotten they owned."  
Scully added thoughtfully, finishing for him.  
  
Allen's smile grew with her words. "Exactly." Scully met his smile,  
returning one of her own.  
  
For some reason this exchange brought up a surge of jealousy within  
Mulder. "So, what- she'll just start randomly injecting as many of them  
as she can? This isn't much of a plan." Mulder said sharply,  
unconvinced. "Yeah, poke holes Mulder, poke as many damn holes in the  
plan as possible."  
  
Allen wasn't deterred by Mulder's words. "No it isn't like that. It's  
not as if we're going to turn her over with half a dozen syringes and  
several vials of vaccine."  
  
"Then how are we going to give them the vaccine?" Scully asked, in a  
tone considerably less sharp than Mulder's had been.  
  
Allen answered. "We've altered the vaccine. We studied it and how it  
effects the oil and were able to recreate the effects in another form.  
The form that it is in now... well, the best way to describe it is that  
it's like a virus. We will *infect* Scully with this *virus* and her  
contact with the aliens will pass it to them, much like how the cold  
virus is passed in humans. There should be no effect on her. She's not  
infected with the oil and she's already been exposed to the vaccine  
before without any dire consequences."  
  
"No one else can do this? It's not as if this requires her to actually  
*do* anything. It sounds as if all you need her for is as a carrier."  
Mulder said with diminishing patience. "Damn it!" He wanted to yell.  
"If you want her to risk her life, for god sakes let her actually do  
something."  
  
She glanced over at him. Mulder sensed the motion and turned. He didn't  
know what to expect when he met her eyes. Maybe irritation, frustration  
over his selfish and immature behavior. Maybe surprise at his lack of  
willingness to understand, or to help.  
  
But he didn't see any of that. Instead he simply saw understanding in  
her expression. And then he heard her. "I'm scared too, Mulder."  
  
"I'm sorry," he softly murmured under his breath. And he was.  
  
Mulder noticed that when he turned away from Scully and back to the men  
sitting across the table that Dagen was staring at the both of them,  
looking from one to the other, sensing that something had passed between  
them, but unable to discern what it was.  
  
Allen did not have the same expression. He was waiting for them to  
finish before he responded to Mulder's comments. "They're expecting  
her." Allen said simply, stating the obvious. "Her presence on the ship  
will not be questioned. She also has the mental discipline necessary to  
guard her thoughts from them."  
  
Mulder quietly pushed a long breath from his lungs. "And her chances?"  
  
"Unfortunately, there is a very small window that we have to work with.  
The vaccine's action should take no more than six hours to infect the  
majority of the aliens, however..." this time there was a very large  
pause, a very large 'however,' and Mulder dreaded hearing the rest. "The  
six hours maybe too long; we may not be safe." Off of Scully's uplifted  
eyebrow, Allen explained further. "Her hand over to them signifies that  
what they've been working for all of these years as been realized.  
Invasion will begin."  
  
Dagen spoke up haltingly. "And... and they may... test her. Do some  
tests on her. And they're likely to try to infect her, to fully  
integrate her to them."  
  
"What? Mulder snapped, and then reined his temper in, and repeated it  
more softly. "What are you saying? Are you saying that she'll become  
reinfected?"  
  
Allen gave his head a small shake. "No, that's not possible. First,  
she's already been inoculated; second, even if she could become  
infected, with the virus within her, she wouldn't be infected long."  
  
Mulder's mind acted like a steel trap that had just been tripped. "But  
they can't find out she is uninfected."  
  
"Correct." Allen said with a nod and a sigh. "If they did, she would be  
of no use to them alive. They would likely kill her, and salvage what  
ever genetic material they could from her."  
  
Salvage. Lovely word. Mulder tried his best to not think about just what  
that would entail.  
  
"I know that the plan seems... well, incomplete, but we hadn't planned  
on acting this soon. We all believed we had several years left." Allen  
glanced toward Dagen sitting beside him. Dagen was looking down at his  
hands. His fingers worried away at a hangnail and avoided everyone's  
eyes.  
  
Allen looked down briefly, before finding Mulder's, then Scully's eyes.  
"Look, I'm not going to lie to you here, it's a possibility that she  
will fail, that the whole plan will fail... This has always been an all  
or nothing situation... I'm afraid... I'm afraid that there aren't many  
alternatives available."  
  
"But what are those alternatives? What if this doesn't work? What is the  
fall back plan? Is there even one?"  
  
"If this fails, and invasion begins, we would begin fighting them; to  
defend ourselves, as well as prevent invasion."  
  
"Would we be successful? Do you think that we can fight them?"  
  
"Mulder, if I believed that we could stop them by fighting them, we  
would have already acted."  
  
Mulder nodded, understanding; wishing he didn't. His hand was firmly  
intertwined with Scully's and he gently rubbed his thumb against her  
index finger, and waited for her to speak.  
  
"What will you do if I choose not to help you?"  
  
Allen paused, giving her question full weight. "We will not make you, we  
can't. But you have to understand that they will find you. You could  
hide for a while, maybe, but death would be your only true escape. And  
while they look for you, they would find the research and make  
another."  
  
"And Armageddon would begin." Scully finished quietly. She had made her  
choice, one that Mulder had known she would take all along. He closed  
his eyes to her next words. Words that he knew must be said, yet would  
be the most painful that he would ever have to hear.  
  
She raised her head, drew in a deep breath and released it. Her eyes  
flashed and her voice was firm, full of conviction. "Ok then, let's do  
this."  
  
* * * * * *  
Skyland Mountain  
Virginia  
5:56 pm  
  
Scully anxiously shifted on her feet. She looked at Allen beside her, in  
the form of Krycek, holding his gun even with her, completing the  
illusion. He seemed undisturbed by the cold wind that blew through the  
trees and through, it seemed, herself.  
  
"Are you sure we can't wait in the car?" she asked, looking perhaps a  
little too longingly at the car at the foot of the hill.  
  
"Sorry. The instructions were very specific."  
  
The instructions. Back on Skyland Mountain. Ahhh, the memories... or, in  
her case, lack of memories. Maybe later she and Mulder could look into  
why this place had so much appeal.  
  
If they had a later.  
  
Lightning lit up the sky, interrupting her thoughts. She counted softly  
to herself, "One, one thousand, two one thousand, three-" The crash of  
thunder cut her off. Close, very close. But still no rain.  
  
"How much longer?" She asked.  
  
"Any minute."  
  
"Will this work?" Scully wasn't sure why she asked. Allen had already  
explained everything; she already knew her chances. Perhaps she was  
looking for some reassurance.  
  
To bad Allen couldn't give any.  
  
"It has to." He said simply.  
  
The words had barely passed his lips when a blinding light illuminated  
the dark night sky again. For a second, she thought it was another bolt  
of lightning, but it lasted too long.  
  
Time slowed, the world narrowing only to that moment. She shielded her  
eyes with her hands and she half turned away from the source.  
  
That was the last thing she remembered.  
  
* * * * * *  
Resistance Headquarters  
Conference Room  
8:21 pm  
  
Scattered across the tabletop were manila folders filled with papers and  
the numerous photographs that had been compiled for them. Mulder had  
been sifting through the stack, not really seeing any of it, ever since  
Scully had left with Allen hours earlier.  
  
The looming anguish of his memories was a dark stain spread over his  
heart. He felt empty except for an overwhelming sadness, a heaviness  
inside him as if he could hardly carry his own weight. As he sat there  
restlessly fingering through the evidence, his mind played back their  
good-bye. He didn't want to think about it, but his mind kept replaying  
the scene over and over.  
  
As what was typical for them, the actual word 'good-bye' was never  
spoken.  
  
Allen had waited patiently for her in the car, and she had stood with  
Mulder just outside the doorway. A storm was coming, the dark clouds  
creating an artificial dusk. Scully had looked up to the sky, and he had  
followed her gaze. The clouds were bruised and heavy, but not yet ready  
to let go of their rain.  
  
The wind caught a lock of her hair and danced with it next to her face.  
He brought his hand up, and taking the smooth strands between his  
fingertips, tucked them carefully behind her ear.  
  
Words had escaped him. Scully seemed to have the same difficulty as he,  
because she too didn't speak. So they had just stood there, silently  
regarding the other like a couple of teenagers at the end of a date,  
unsure of what the right words would be.  
  
Unable to say good-bye.  
  
The longer that they had stood there, the more conscious Mulder became  
of the time ticking by, the time that was being lost. He had thought  
then, at that instant, of all of the other moments that had been lost  
because neither of them had the courage to be the first to move.  
  
He pulled her to him, holding her tightly against his body. He'd buried  
his nose into her hair, memorizing her scent. "Don't say it Mulder,  
don't even think it. This isn't good-bye."  
  
As they parted he could see the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes  
before she turned away from him and toward the waiting car.  
  
"Scully." He said her name in a choked voice. He didn't have anything to  
say, but he couldn't let her leave with out saying something, anything.  
His lips moved around her name again but no sound came out.  
  
She turned back to him, and on a sudden impulse he placed a hand on the  
back of her neck and pulled her head to his and kissed her. It wasn't a  
kiss of passion, desperation, or even need. No, it was simply a  
connection, and the only way Mulder could find to say what he had needed  
to say.  
  
She was the first to pull away; he hadn't wanted to let her go. He had  
to make her understand. Scully caught his eyes and read his unspoken  
question. She smiled and brought her hand up to run her palm against his  
cheek. For the longest time she simply stared into his eyes.  
  
Mulder watched her face. He had the sense that the whole world turning  
on its axis was waiting for her answer to his unspoken question. Did she  
know?  
  
Her smile was almost sad (had there been regret he saw in her eyes?)  
when she said "I know Mulder." Her tears escaped then. Before she turned  
away completely, he heard her in his head, "I always knew."  
  
She had let go of him then, and half ran to the waiting vehicle. He  
hadn't watched as they drove off.  
  
He'd headed back inside, back to the conference room and there he had  
remained, alone except for his thoughts.  
  
His damn thoughts.  
  
She always knew. And what had he done in all of those years? Not a  
fucking thing.  
  
He didn't want to think about the time that had been lost, the 'might  
have been's, the 'should of's. He didn't want to think about the  
possibility that that is all they would ever have.  
  
And it wasn't as if he'd had an overnight epiphany, or it was just the  
situation that had brought this out. It was simply the crystallization  
of years of thought, of hesitation, of uncertainty. Because the simple  
fact of the matter was that for years he had known exactly what he  
wanted and precisely who he wanted to be with. Scully. The single word  
was all of the answers to the questions he asked. She was the sum of all  
he wanted and needed.  
  
Oh, he had most definitely been Hamlet, standing there for years and  
wondering, prevarication, trying to come to a decision and not sure what  
direction to take. All of that wasted time...Nothing less than the end  
of the world had been required for him to act.  
  
And now it was too late. Too goddamn late.  
  
"And yet, as martyrs, our burdens must be borne."  
  
"Fuck that! Fuck that to hell!" He said into the empty room. He stood up  
from his chair and swept off the stacks of papers.  
  
His fury left as quickly as it had came. He watched as the white sheets  
fluttered to the ground.  
  
The unexpected the knock at the door sounded like a cannon blast in the  
silent room. Without waiting for a response Allen opened the door.  
  
"You're back" Mulder stated the obvious, not looking for an answer.  
"She's with them now."  
  
Allen glanced to the floor and the papers strewn across it.  
"Redecorating? Can I help?" Pausing, he took a deep cleansing breath  
and continued. "Come with me. You shouldn't be alone now." The tone was  
cool, rational, allowing for no compromise or misinterpretation.  
  
It reminded Mulder of Scully, and that was the only reason he allowed  
Allen to lead him out of the room.  
  
* * * * * *  
Alien Ship  
  
For a long time Scully just lay on the tabletop and listened to her  
heart as it methodically pounded a wooden stake into her head. It was  
one of those awakenings that when she first regained consciousness she  
didn't know who or where she was. But then it came to her.  
  
She was Dana Scully, and she'd just been given up to the aliens.  
  
She opened her eyes only to discover utter blackness. There wasn't a  
hint of light in the room-- or wherever the hell she was. She lay on her  
back, on a hard, uncomfortable tabletop. Her arms at her side, tightly  
secured by straps of some kind, her feet tied as well. She struggled  
against them briefly, in a vain hope that she could break free, but  
quickly gave up. She was secured well.  
  
She felt fear begin its slide up her spine, and took a deep breathe to  
quell it. "You'll be ok Dana. It'll be ok; this'll all work out for  
the best. Calm, have to remain calm."  
  
A glaring light came on then, as if sensing her return to consciousness.  
She looked at the white room around her; white, bright white expansive  
walls. Were there even walls? She couldn't be sure. The white of the  
light made distinguishing it from the room nearly impossible. It felt  
familiar, as if--  
  
The memories came at her like an unexpected gunshot. She had lived  
through this before. She remembered. Blinding lights; the sound of her  
screams echoing ominously in her ears. Light, again, but different - it  
seemed whiter, sharper, almost glacial in its coldness. She couldn't  
move, couldn't move anything. Indistinct faces hidden behind masks.  
Metal, shining from above. Pain. A moan escaped her lips before she  
could brace herself.  
  
Time passed. She was not sure how long she'd been waiting before she  
heard a noise like an electrical hum. A door appeared and opened just to  
her left. In the doorway, she saw two aliens peering in, two  
honest-to-God little green men. "Little gray men." She amended. She  
had known and had believed, but it wasn't until that moment that it  
truly hit her.  
  
She slowly blinked. They were still there. "Little gray men." Before  
Scully could react they had backed away and the door had closed,  
separating them once more.  
  
Scully was left alone.  
  
*****  
The thought of trying to go to sleep brushed Scully's mind and was  
promptly dismissed. Every hair on her head was separate and alert, her  
very skin wide awake. But god, how she wanted to sleep... to escape this  
nightmare no matter how briefly. She was excited, depleted, running on  
her will. But no, she couldn't do that. She had to face this, whatever  
this was.  
  
She let her mind wander to the last time she had slept, and waking up  
curled up next to Mulder's side. How she wished she was back there next  
to him. Why had it taken this to get them to that? "Because this is  
how we are. Because this is who we are." Perhaps that explanation was  
too simple, but it explained everything.  
  
Because. Just because.  
  
The moment had been inevitable. Did it really matter why or how or  
where? Or when?  
  
Yes it did. The 'when' mattered.  
  
She felt regret for the time that had been lost, and fear that they  
wouldn't have a chance to make up for it. She didn't know if this would  
work, she didn't know if she would survive, she didn't know what she  
would face if she came back.  
  
She didn't know anything.  
  
Scully heard the noise again, the same humming as before. She turned her  
head in the direction of the door. Two of them again. But this time,  
instead of waiting hesitantly at the door, they walked right up to her.  
They paused near her head and for a moment seemed to communicate with  
each other.  
  
One suddenly reached out its pale hand and lay it on her forehead.  
Scully tried her best not to flinch, but couldn't help but turn away  
from the cold touch. The hand remained in place and the two creatures  
seemed to confer once more. Scully could get nothing from them; it was  
as if she was trying to read a wall. She hoped that they were having as  
little success reading her. Allen had been confident that she had the  
ability to block her thoughts from them, but now that she was here she  
was beginning to worry. If they found out... if they knew the plan...  
Well, she knew what would happen; she didn't want to think about it.  
  
Finally, the alien removed its cool hand, and together the two moved  
away from her. Scully twisted her neck to follow their progress. One  
walked to a wall and hit a keypad that had appeared as suddenly as the  
door had. Movement out of the periphery of Scully's vision caused her to  
turn her head away from the one nearest the wall. The second one had  
moved around to her other side and was positioning a metallic device  
above her. It hung suspended over her head. The object was circular, and  
in it's center protruded a cone shaped instrument. The second alien  
carefully adjusted the device so that the tip of the cone was  
perpendicular to her forehead.  
  
Metal, shining from above.  
  
Pain.  
  
Pain.  
  
Scully tried to turn her head away to avoid what she inherently knew was  
coming, but to her horror, found that she now longer had control of her  
body. She was suddenly immobile, frozen to the tabletop, yet she  
retained total sensation throughout her body.  
  
A shearing pain lanced through her head like a hot needle. She felt pain  
constrict her chest. Ice-cold pain, as if her blood were clumping  
together. She tried to breathe past it but it was a struggle. Unable to  
summon the extra breath to call out, she screamed silently.  
  
"Mulder!"  
  
* * * * * * 


	21. 21

Resistance Headquarters  
Control Room  
9:04 pm  
  
* * * * * *  
People say that what we're all seeking is a meaning for life. I don't  
Think that's what we're really seeking. I think that what we're seeking  
is a experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the  
purely physical plane will have resonances within our own innermost  
being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.  
--Joseph Campbell  
* * * * * *  
  
  
Allen led Mulder to a huge room, the largest he'd seen in this facility.  
Nearly every available space was taken up with monitors, computers, and  
small flashing lights. What was not filled up with machines was taken up  
with moving bodies.  
  
Where had all of these people come from? Had they all been here all  
along? In the entire time he and Scully had been there, he'd seen maybe  
a total of ten people. He had assumed that this building was nearly  
deserted. That was obviously wrong.  
  
Mulder turned to Allen and nodded in the direction of the other  
occupants in the room. "Who are all of these people?"  
  
"Most are like me, the ones that I released. There are some, like Ed and  
Dagen," he waved his hand in the direction where the two men were  
sitting at desks, "which we recruited later. The ones that aren't here  
are still on the ships that we control." Allen indicated a view screen  
to Mulder.  
  
Mulder glanced at one of the many screens, trying to make out the  
readings, trying to figure out 'what' it was reading. He leaned in  
closer to the monitor, and was now able to differentiate what he had  
previously assumed were just dots. Some of the 'dots' were really in  
fact small triangles or squares. He noted that numbers of each was  
approximately equal to the other.  
  
"We've become experts at monitoring them." Allen said, and even though  
he was smiling there was no humor in his tone. "That's all we really  
could do. Each time we would act, they would counteract, and neither of  
us made any real progress. We were at a stalemate, until now. We finally  
have an advantage."  
  
And that advantage was Scully. Mulder nodded sadly, thankful that Allen  
didn't elaborate further. "You've never said why you are doing this." He  
said softly, turning to face Allen. "Please, I would like to know why.  
Why did you free yourself? How did you know?"  
  
Allen glanced around the busy room, trying to find an area for them to  
speak. Motioning for Mulder to follow, he walked to a corner of the  
room, grabbing two chairs along the way. They sat, Mulder, cautiously  
relaxed; Allen, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tightly in front of  
him. Allen looked down at his hands thoughtfully, taking several moments  
to carefully consider Mulder's question.  
  
"You like baseball?"  
  
"I've been known to play a few games in my time." Mulder answered  
carefully.  
  
"A fascinating game. I've never played, but I've watched it. I didn't  
always like it." He glanced up and a sentimental smile briefly lit up  
his face. "I remember thinking at first that it was the most absurd  
thing that I had ever seen."  
  
Mulder, unsure what the correct response would be, remained silent.  
  
Allen's eyes returned to his hands, and his smile disappeared as he  
continued. "We never really had much contact with your kind until the  
early 1940's; it was around that time we made our arrangement."  
  
"Contact was still limited, even after the deal. It was believed that  
exposure to your kind risked corruption, that we would become tainted  
somehow. They were correct to believe this. There was one--he was one of  
the liaisons between the humans and aliens. One day, after negotiations  
of some kind, he was taken to a baseball game. After the game, he just  
disappeared."  
  
"I was sent after him, and eventually I found him in New Mexico, playing  
baseball of all things." The odd sentimental smile returned, and just as  
quickly disappeared as he spoke his next words.  
  
"I found him, and when he wouldn't come back with me, I killed him." The  
regret and disgust of his past actions were obvious in his voice.  
"But--but when he bled, it was blood, human blood, not ours. It was on  
my hands. It was real blood." He looked up again, and met Mulder's eyes.  
Mulder was surprised to see tears in the corners.  
  
"I knew him before, before... everything." His voice began cracking.  
"He was my brother. Just before he died -- he laughed..." Allen's voice  
trailed off as he slipped into the memory, "he always loved to laugh so  
much..."  
  
"I killed my own brother." He paused as Mulder took in the weight of  
Allen's words. In a softer, more controlled and calmed voice he tried  
to continue. "It wasn't until a few years ago that I could even grieve  
for him."  
  
Mulder wanted to offer him some kind of comfort. Comfort he didn't have  
for himself. Mulder waited for him to recover, and when Allen spoke  
again, there was no hint of a waver.  
  
"He was the first one, the first to leave. Because I had handled the  
situation so well, I was sent after the others. If they didn't chose to  
come back, I killed them." Pause. "Not a single one chose to come  
back," he added pointedly.  
  
"I was envious of them, even as I killed them. They had found something  
that had been taken from me. I was angry with them for achieving what I  
could not. Jealous."  
  
Mulder leaned forward in his chair. "How many of them were there? How  
did they free themselves? I was under the impression that you needed to  
be given the vaccine."  
  
"I needed the vaccine, but the others did not. There were several that  
left. So many, in fact, that I needed help in my efforts in retrieving  
them. We shared the same identity so as not to confuse your kind. As far  
as how they managed to leave...do you believe in miracles?" He asked and  
smiled apologetically, knowing that that was not a very good  
explanation. "We never could figure it out, and I doubt we ever will  
know for sure. For each individual it was a different set of  
circumstances that triggered a change within them. For my brother it had  
been baseball."  
  
"And the others? What triggered the changes in them?"  
  
He paused, and carefully thought out his response. "The only commonality  
that I can see, is that whatever the trigger had been for them, it made  
them feel alive."  
  
* * * * * *  
Alien Ship  
  
Samantha looked up from her post to the doorway. They were taking  
another away. That was the third one in an hour who'd collapsed. Odd.  
She glanced at the others working at their stations around her. She  
briefly tapped into the mental network that every member of the ship was  
naturally a part of. Everyone else was busily working; it seemed that  
she was the only one who was distracted.  
  
The fact that no one else noticed was not unusual. If it had nothing to  
do with them, they didn't need to. The fact that she'd noticed was  
causing her some concern. Why had she? Did it have something to do with  
her?  
  
She'd felt strange ever since she had heard the human's cry in her head.  
The others had heard it as well, that single word that had been blasted  
into their heads, but it seemed like she was the only one who'd noticed.  
They seemed unaffected, but she was affected. She couldn't concentrate  
on the task at hand, and as much as she felt the need to continue her  
work, for the first time, in along time, she let curiosity take hold of  
her actions and she walked out of the room. No one noticed her  
departure.  
  
It wasn't their concern.  
  
The word the human had used resonated within her. Samantha said it out  
loud as she walked down the hallway. "Mulder." It sounded odd to speak  
the name out loud. The word felt both familiar and foreign on her lips.  
She felt as if the word was a key somehow, and she was suddenly  
desperate to find the lock that it fit.  
  
She approached the room where the human was held. The human had the  
answer, she knew this. There was no one near; no one watching the room.  
It wasn't necessary, as it was impossible for the human to leave.  
Besides, the woman was not considered a threat.  
  
She activated the controls to open the door and entered. The woman lay  
unconscious on the exam table. Samantha approached, placing her hand on  
the woman's arm.  
  
"What... what is a Mulder?"  
  
* * * * * *  
A shadow fell across Scully's face and she felt a hand on her arm. There  
were words being spoken, but they were like cotton in her ear, muffled  
and distant.  
  
"What?" Scully asked, confused, not fully awake. Scully struggled to  
open her eyes, but when she did, all she could see was a blurry figure  
standing over her. She closed them again. The small effort had exhausted  
her. She was so damn tired... So tired, she just wanted to sleep.  
  
But the individual above her wouldn't let her. The figure spoke again,  
this time more insistently and this time Scully could understand the  
words. "Mulder. You said that word; I heard it in my head. What is a  
Mulder?"  
  
There was a familiarity about the voice that touched something within  
Scully. It was familiar... yet... Scully struggled to grasp it... yet...  
it couldn't be...  
  
She opened her eyes once more and found a woman standing over her. A  
woman that looked like Samantha, identical to the woman Scully had seen  
years ago on the bridge. That horrible night when Mulder believed he had  
traded his sister for her. Scully closed her eyes and shook her head  
slightly. She found herself in a curious state in which she could not be  
surprised. "Of course I run into Samantha. Why the hell not?"  
  
"Samantha," she whispered.  
  
Samantha's forehead furrowed in confusion at the sound of her name. "No,  
I said Mulder. Please, tell me what a Mulder is. I must know."  
  
"You're Samantha Mulder." Scully said wearily. This situation was  
entirely too surreal. "That's your name. That's what Mulder means."  
  
"No. That's not the answer." Samantha shook her head vigorously. "The  
answer isn't me. You need to show me again. Like before."  
  
"Before? I don't remember before."  
  
"Before," Samantha repeated, "when I heard you in my head. We all did."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." Scully said, genuinely  
confused.  
  
"It's more than just a name. When I heard you-- there was something more  
than just a word. There was something..." Samantha paused, "...there was  
something attached to it. I'm the only one who noticed; that means I  
must need to know." An idea came to her. "If I could read you, I would  
know." She moved her hand to Scully's forehead.  
  
Scully struggled to pull her head away from Samantha's hand. "No, I  
can't let you do that."  
  
"Please, please let me. I *have* to know. I can't explain it..." She  
paused, and Scully could read the desperation in her eyes. "I'm not  
going to hurt you. Here," Samantha removed her hand from Scully's  
forehead, and instead clasped Scully's hand. "Read me, and then you'll  
know." She looked down at Scully with a mixture of pleading and hope.  
"Please, help me know" she whispered again.  
  
Scully looked up into Samantha's hazel eyes; the soft brown flecks, gold  
traces, and smooth green undertones that Scully recognized. She had her  
brother's eyes. A brother that she couldn't remember and was desperate  
to know. Cautiously Scully began to let her walls down, to let herself  
see Samantha. She could feel her consciousness mingle with Samantha's.  
There wasn't any sense of animosity, or inclination of harm towards her.  
Instead she saw only a black void, empty except for one thing.  
  
A name.  
  
It was literally a name, spelled out, bright against the blackness.  
'Mulder,' and there was an intense sense of urgency surrounding it.  
Samantha *had* to know. And Scully knew then that she was the one to  
tell her. That it was somehow necessary.  
  
"Ok," Scully whispered, when she opened her eyes, "first let me sit up."  
  
"I'm not supposed to--" Samantha began, then quickly reconsidered. "Ok,"  
she walked to a control panel. The restraints disappeared and Samantha  
helped Scully sit up.  
  
"What is a Mulder? How do I show her all that he is? I can't just sum  
him up into a nice tidy description. She's right, it's more than just a  
word; he is everything and more."  
  
But she would try. Scully held her hand out and Samantha gripped it. She  
would show Samantha everything. Scully let the images begin. They  
shifted and flowed and combined, not totally making sense, not cohesive,  
not linear, but exactly 'Mulder.'  
  
And then it was Samantha leading the way, taking the images, voracious  
in her thirst for information. Anything Mulder that Scully had within  
her, Samantha found. The images came and went in a rush. Scully could no  
longer keep tract or control the images that were revealed. It was  
Mulder, over and over. And then it was everything.  
  
It was a mixture of her own memories and the ones he had shared with  
her. His thoughts; memories of his sister. It was the man she loved;  
laughing, crying, smiling, thinking, breathing. A clumsy, mortal,  
wonderful, honest man, who has had far too much misery and sadness for  
one life time. It was him, utterly, painfully, human. A man who made  
Scully whole, complete, and made her feel... he made her feel  
'everything'...he made her feel alive.  
  
Scully was becoming lost, and it was only when Samantha broke contact,  
did the images abate. Scully opened her eyes and found her crumpled on  
the floor, sobbing.  
  
Samantha was repeating a word over and over, but this time it wasn't  
Mulder.  
  
This time it was "Fox."  
  
* * * * * *  
Resistance Headquarters  
Control Room  
9:52 pm  
  
Allen was giving Mulder a tour of the control room-- anything to keep  
Mulder occupied-- when they were interrupted by a shout from across the  
room. "Sir! We have movement."  
  
They weaved their way though the machines and the bodies and reached the  
operator who'd called out. The previously humming room was silent as  
everyone waited to hear the information.  
  
"Are you sure?" Allen asked as he leaded over the man's shoulder to see  
the screen for himself.  
  
"Yes sir, I've already checked it twice. Their ships are moving to  
position themselves over the major cities."  
  
"What does this mean?" Mulder interrupted, not quite understanding; not  
wanting to.  
  
"They're moving into position. A countdown's begun. They're acting  
sooner than we had hoped." Allen answered distractedly.  
  
Trepidation entered Mulder's voice. "How long do we have?"  
  
"Not long enough."  
  
* * * * * *  
Alien Ship  
  
Alarmed by Samantha's intense reaction, Scully slid off the table and  
wrapped her arms around the crying woman. As she did, their connection  
was reestablished. Scully gasped as the confusing, whirling, emotion  
filled thoughts entered her mind.  
  
Panic flooded through Scully, as a fragmented thought caught in her  
mind. Samantha had lost control; the others would be able to read her if  
they tried. And if they did, they would know everything.  
  
Scully had to do something, and do it quickly.  
  
"Samantha, you've got to listen to me. You have to take control. Please  
Samantha, please."  
  
No response.  
  
More drastic. "Samantha. Answer me." Scully cradled Samantha's head  
in her hands, palms against each cheek. She concentrated, focusing all  
of her energy on Samantha, imagining a wall being built, brick by brick,  
holding in and giving structure to the swirling thoughts filling  
Samantha's mind.  
  
With the force of her will, Scully felt the control she held over her  
own thoughts extend and encompass Samantha's. Scully removed her hands.  
Samantha was still crying, but the hysterical nature of before had  
retreated.  
  
"Fox. I remember him. I hadn't thought of him for... I don't know. I  
can't remember... I forgot him. I forgot him. Could he ever forgive me  
of that?" she looked up to Scully, eyes overfilling with tears.  
  
"It's ok. I don't think that they wanted you to remember. It's not your  
fault; he would understand."  
  
She didn't seem to hear Scully's words. "I have to stop what is to come.  
I can't... I can't let what I'm feeling-- if it happens I'll have to  
give this up. I can't." As she spoke, her words became more rushed.  
Control was being lost again, draining away like water running free  
through a sieve.  
  
Again, Scully asserted control, this time much more firmly, and Samantha  
calmed down again. "We have to be careful, we can't let the others  
know."  
  
"No we can't." Samantha paused, as she considered her next move. "I have  
to stop them. I can't let what's going to happen, happen. I can't give  
this up.  
  
"Give what up?"  
  
"Everything," she said simply. "You need to lay down; we can't let them  
know that anything has changed."  
  
Scully reluctantly laid back down. She saw the wisdom of Samantha's  
words, but it took nearly all of her will to let the restrained be  
replaced. "Can you stop them?"  
  
"I can try." Samantha smiled. "I'm *able* to try. I'll come back to you  
as soon as I can."  
  
"Where are you going? Are you just going to leave me like this? Alone?"  
To her own astonishment, Scully's voice began to shake. She didn't want  
to sound so frightened.  
  
Samantha leaned over Scully and brushed a red strand off her forehead.  
"You won't be alone; I still need you." She smiled and reached her other  
hand up to her own head. "I'll be with you, and you will be with me."  
  
* * * * * *  
Resistance Headquarters  
Control Room  
10:22 pm  
  
Everyone in the room crowded around the small TV that had been brought  
in. Each listened in rap attention to the broadcast. Even though they  
could look to the monitors on their left and right for a more accurate  
truth, all were drawn to the news anchor on the screen.  
  
"--and the president has declared a national state of emergency. A  
nationwide curfew has been implemented. For those of you just joining  
our broadcast: Across the nation there are reports flooding in that say  
that there has been explosions in many of our nation's cities. The  
nature of the explosions has not been determined, but evidence would  
suggest that this was a premeditated act. The explosions occurred within  
minutes of one another across the nation and--" Her hand went up to her  
earpiece. It was obvious that she was receiving instructions from the  
producer. There was nearly 30 seconds of silence as she listened. The  
anchor's face went white, and she struggled to regain her composure.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry for that interruption, but I have just  
receive some more disturbing news. It seems that these attacks were not  
localized to this country. Reports are coming in from Europe, Russia,  
China, and elsewhere, that they too experienced these attacks, and at  
approximately the same time that we did. Causality reports are just  
beginning to come in and--"  
  
The screen abruptly went blank, then to static, as the newscast was cut  
off. The sound of static filled the air before Ed leaned forward and  
turned off the TV.  
  
The resulting silence was interrupted only by a small murmur in the  
back.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
* * * * *  
"We've failed." Dagen sighed, resigned.  
  
"No. It doesn't mean that. It can't mean that." Mulder said, shaking his  
head. "The vaccine has been introduced. If we just can wait-We have to  
give it more time." "We have to give Scully more time."  
  
"As the world collapses around us? We aren't even positive that it'll  
work as we planned. What happens if we do wait, and it doesn't work?"  
Dagen pointed out. "We can't take that chance. We have to act now."  
  
Allen stepped forward and gave Mulder a steady look. "He's right,  
Mulder. We can't take that chance."  
  
"But what about Scully?"  
  
Allen's next words hit Mulder like a sledgehammer to his chest. Each  
word to be soon frozen in his memory.  
  
"She is lost."  
  
* * * * * *  
Alien Ship  
  
As Samantha walked though the hallway, she could feel Scully with her, a  
pleasant, fortifying sensation that calmed her. She was certain that  
without Scully's help, she would still be on the floor crying  
uncontrollably. It had almost been too much. After so long without  
strong emotion, suddenly being witnessed to Scully's feelings had been  
incredibly shocking to her system.  
  
And it wasn't just knowing Scully; it was also knowing Mulder... her  
brother... Fox. She stumbled slightly as she tried to regain her mental  
equilibrium. She'd forgotten him. She had forgotten everything.  
  
She'd forgotten the rest of her family, her life with them. But memories  
of her own were beginning to rise to the surface of her mind. She was no  
longer relying solely on the information Scully had given her.  
  
She saw her mother-- her father too. She remembered how it ended, how  
the nightmare she hadn't known she was living had begun.  
  
It was at the dinner table, her parents as silent as they always seemed  
to be, and Fox was sitting across from her. He'd been the one to start  
the fight earlier, although he would have argued otherwise. She got home  
from school before he did, and had already staked her claim to the lone  
TV set. When he came home ten minutes later, he had promptly turned the  
channel from her choice to one of his.  
  
The fight had escalated after that, as was typical for them. He enjoyed  
teasing her, she loved the attention. His attention was all she got from  
her family. Each took turns provoking the other, each enflaming the  
situation; each secretly enjoying the game. By the time dinner came,  
they had spent hours at it, but neither had grown tired. Sam sat across  
from him, an innocent smile on her face, as she rhythmically kicked his  
chair. He was able to sit through it for ten minutes, quietly plotting  
his revenge, when his resolve broke.  
  
"Mom, Sam's bothering me." He'd wined to their mother.  
  
"I'm not even touching him!" she replied in mock outrage.  
  
"Stop it, both of you. You've been at it all afternoon and I'm tired of  
listening to you squabbling." Their mother said.  
  
Her father spoke up then. "Fox you should be setting a better example  
for you sister. I don't want to hear another word about this, out of  
either of you." He glared at both of them a moment before returning his  
attention back to his plate.  
  
Normally, they followed their father's harsh authority implicitly, but  
something had gotten into her that day, and a wave of impetuousness  
filled her. Perhaps it was because Fox had absorbed much of the blame,  
but whatever the reason, only a minute had passed before she was  
swinging her leg again. But this time, instead of his chair, she made  
direct contact with the shin of his leg.  
  
Fox winced noticeably, but had managed to remain silent. She smirked at  
him. He narrowed his eyes at her. He was feeling a little impetuous as  
well. Carefully, ever so carefully, making sure that both parents were  
looking down, he grabbed a pea and with his forefinger flicked it right  
into her glass of milk. He held up two fingers and mouthed the words  
'Two points.'  
  
That of course was not the end; as if she could let it end like that.  
After stewing a few minutes, and being unable to come up with anything  
new, she simply kicked him again, in the same spot, but his time much  
harder.  
  
This time there was a reaction. He yelped loudly, and stood up too  
quickly, in process sliding half his food off the plate and on to the  
floor, and sending his full glass of milk across the tabletop.  
  
"Mom!" he had begun to yell, eager to place the blame on Sam, but he  
stopped when he saw his parents' reactions. They had moved away from the  
table and stood next to him, each taking a firm grip on his arms.  
  
"I thought that your father told you to stop this." Her mother hadn't  
yelled, but her words sounded loud and bruising just the same. "He  
specifically told you to set an example for your sister, and this is  
what you do?"  
  
Fox had a panicked look on his face. Their parents had never reacted  
like this before. Never had they shown this display of emotion before.  
  
They were disappointed in him; as if they expected so much more from him  
than an ordinary twelve year old boy could be. Samantha had watched as  
an indescribable look had passed between her parents. She had no idea  
what it meant. She didn't know why they were so disappointed, and she  
couldn't even begin to understand how she could even know this.  
  
But then she did.  
  
Before she could think about anything else, new ideas were coming into  
her head. They were going to send him away; they were under time  
pressures. That was why they were upset. Fox wasn't like they needed him  
to be; he wasn't as he should be.  
  
"No! Don't take him anywhere! You can't let them take him!" She shouted  
before she had thought about the words coming from her mouth.  
  
They'd dropped Fox's arms in surprise at her words. Her mother was about  
to speak when her father stopped her. They moved away from the table.  
Without saying a word about her outburst, her father simply said, "Both  
of you clean this up, then to your rooms from the rest of the night. I  
don't want to hear another word out of either of you." Samantha hadn't  
been able to get more ideas then, but when they had looked at her with  
an old, yet pleased smile, the first tendrils of fear had begun to curl  
around her heart.  
  
Samantha remembered waking up that night to see them standing in her  
doorway. They stood, watching her as she pretended to sleep.  
  
She didn't know what was happening to her, but she knew that she knew  
what they were thinking. Fox wasn't going to be the one taken anymore.  
Their other child showed much more promise.  
  
When they left her door, she'd quietly cried into her pillow, not  
understanding what was happening, or what it all meant, but knowing that  
she had a good reason to be afraid.  
  
When her tears had stopped, she'd gathered her pillow and stole into her  
brother's room. She gently shook his shoulder, and when he woke, instead  
of dismissing her like she had feared, he simply lifted up the edge of  
his blanket and let her craw underneath. "Don't hog the covers," was the  
only thing he said before falling back asleep.  
  
He wasn't a bad brother. She didn't want him to leave; she didn't want  
to leave him. They were all that they really had. But she was only  
eight, and had no way to verbalize what was happening, although she had  
wanted to so much. She fell asleep minutes later, able to forget about  
what was happening for a while, sheltered in the protective warmth of  
her older brother.  
  
A week later she was taken.  
  
She'd completely forgotten this. How could she have let that happen? She  
forgot him, her sweet brother. This was why she'd been sent to the  
floor. The memories of him, of her disappearance. It had been like the  
first domino being tripped and after was a cascade of emotions and  
feelings that she didn't know what to do with. In a very quick, very  
intense moment Sam felt everything that it meant to be alive and love  
and... everything. When it was over, when Scully had finally managed to  
regain her attention, Samantha had been changed.  
  
And she knew that she could never go back.  
  
* * * * * * 


	22. 22

Resistance Headquarters  
Control Room  
10:47 pm  
  
* * * * * *  
At first his heart does not realize the full intensity of his misery...  
But as he gradually recovered the use of his reason, he feels the  
depth of his misfortune... he can feel nothing but the sharp claws  
of despair tearing at his breast. But why speak of physical pain?  
What pain felt by the body alone can be compared to this?  
-- Jean Paul  
* * * * * *  
  
  
Mulder sat staring ahead at a monitor, not really seeing it, feeling as  
brittle as spun glass, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. There  
was something strangely comforting in the pain he felt. As if he'd spent  
his whole life waiting for this moment, waiting for the worse that could  
ever happen. Now that it was here, he felt a certain sense of relief.  
This was it. The moment had arrived.  
  
They'd lost.  
  
Scully was lost.  
  
And he couldn't do a damn thing about it. The plan had failed and aliens  
were invading the world. It was like one of those overly dramatic plots  
from a poorly written B movie. Boy meets girl, gets girl involved in  
global conspiracy, boy and girl fall in love, girl is given up to  
aliens. If only it could be a movie; then he, as the hero, would be able  
to find a way to save her in the eleventh hour.  
  
Instead, he just sat there.  
  
Mulder felt a hand on his shoulder but he didn't look up. He didn't want  
to see the sorrow in Allen's eyes.  
  
"Mulder...we don't have any choice..."  
  
"I know." Mulder answered flatly. On the monitor he watched as the dots  
moved across the screen like insects over a dead animal.  
  
"I never--" Allen paused, shaking his head slightly. When he spoke  
again, his voice was softer and gentler than before. "I really thought  
we had a chance..."  
  
Mulder didn't respond. Instead, he leaned forward in the chair, placing  
his elbows on his knees and hands to his face. He pressed the heels of  
his hands into his eyes until he saw the flurry and sparkle of bright  
white colors.  
  
He was only partially successful at holding back his sob.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Alien Ship  
  
Scully was split in two. Literally.  
  
Half of her was on the tabletop, alone in the white room.  
  
Another half was walking in a hallway.  
  
She could only think of one word to describe the situation.  
  
Odd.  
  
This was the fucking oddest thing she ever experienced.  
  
Was she was with Samantha or was she *in* her? Seeing through her eyes?  
Thinking with her thoughts? Hell, were those her arms or Samantha's  
swinging at her side, brushing up against the fabric of the soft cloth?  
  
"How was this happening? And why isn't this terrifying me?"  
  
"Because we know all there is to know about the other, and you know  
that I will not hurt you" came a sudden interjection from Samantha.  
  
"We can communicate without touching? How can this be?" Scully was  
surprised. Surprised that she could still be surprised.  
  
"I made a stronger link between us. I can't do this without you."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"I'm stopping them." Was her simple reply.  
  
* * * * * *  
Resistance Headquarters  
Control Room  
11:15 pm  
  
"Sir, we-- something's happening." A voice called out, not in panic, nor  
alarm, but in confusion.  
  
"What do we have?" Allen asked curtly, nerves fraying from the stress,  
from being pulled in all directions.  
  
The operator looked up at Allen, uncertainly written across his face.  
"I'm not sure sir. It seems, well...three of their ships have  
disappeared." he said, but he sounded cautious, as if he didn't want to  
tempt fate by being sure  
  
"What do you mean, 'disappeared?'"  
  
He nodded toward the monitor. "I mean, they aren't there any more."  
  
"Explanation?" Allen looked away from the monitor and met the man's  
eyes.  
  
"It seems, from the readings we are getting, that they've been  
destroyed."  
  
"Destroyed?" Allen sounded surprised, but pleased. "But that's good,  
that is what we want."  
  
"Sir, they've been destroyed, but not by anything that we have done."  
  
"What does this mean?"  
  
The operator shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."  
  
Allen returned his attention to the screen. As he stood watching, two  
more of the alien's ships blinked out. Then another. Without removing  
his gaze, he spoke. "Find out what the hell is happening. Do it now."  
  
* * * * * *  
Alien Ship  
  
Samantha's interaction with Scully had thankfully gone unnoticed.  
Everyone's attention was diverted towards the invasion. She was able to  
know what was happening by checking with the others. And she could do  
this without worry; Scully had a firm control on not only her own  
thoughts but on Samantha's as well. This let Samantha remain free and  
virtually undetected amongst the others. If they couldn't 'feel' her,  
she was practically invisible, and of no one's concern.  
  
The Resistance was fighting back, but they were vastly outnumbered, and  
she knew that they would be unsuccessful without her help. Samantha  
checked in again on the mental network. The virus wasn't working fast  
enough. Some on this ship were incapacitated with it, but it had not yet  
spread to any of the other ships. They didn't have time to wait for it  
to work.  
  
Samantha had gone to a lower traffic area to access the main system, the  
physical network that each ship was apart of. She knew how to do this  
because of her many years with them. They'd come to accept her as one of  
them, and thought that they had no reason to distrust her. Until a short  
time ago, they were correct.  
  
She'd been trained in every aspect of the ships and how they ran. She  
also learned what it took to stop them. She began to remotely access the  
key operating systems on another ship, taking steps to avoid notice.  
  
Samantha worked quickly and methodically from one ship to the next,  
making sure that each ship was accounted for. She didn't have much time  
before someone noticed something was happening and traced it back to  
this workstation.  
  
* * * * * *  
Resistance Headquarters  
Control Room  
11:29 pm  
  
"We can't let this opportunity pass." Allen paused, and glanced at  
Mulder huddled in his chair across the room. "But..." his voice  
faltered.  
  
"But what?" The operator looked up in confusion. "We have to stop  
them..."  
  
Allen closed his eyes. "Just do what we have to do," his voice a little  
lower and rougher with emotion than it had been moments before. He  
repeated the other man's words, knowing that this was likely their only  
chance, "we have to stop them." Knowing too, that with these words, he  
had also giving up on Scully.  
  
* * * * * *  
Alien Ship  
  
Samantha was moving quickly from ship to ship, only taking a few seconds  
with each, when she realized something. With each ship that she  
successfully took out, the ship that she was on became a more likely  
target for the Resistance. Without stopping her work, she thought a  
moment, considering what to do. With the next ship she accessed, she  
altered her plan slightly, allowing an extra few minutes before it too  
would be destroyed.  
  
She moved on, but discovered her workstation dead. They'd discovered her  
actions, and were intervening to prevent further damage. She had only  
accessed half of the ships so far. Samantha tentatively tapped into the  
mental network. Yes, they had found out about her actions, and had  
traced it back to this station, but they did not yet know it was she.  
  
She abandoned the room, and began to make her way back to Scully. She  
calmly walked passed strangers she once knew; they didn't even give her  
a second glance.  
  
She would try to gain access from another station, but first she needed  
to get Scully out of there.  
  
As she was walking down a corridor, the ship suddenly lurched to the  
left, and she found herself slammed against the wall. A booming sound  
resonated throughout the ship and Samantha could still feel the  
vibrations through her fingertips.  
  
When the shuddering of the ship had faded, and when she could move  
again, Samantha began to run.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Scully was trying her best not to panic. Perhaps it would be more  
appropriate to say she was trying her best not to let Samantha and  
herself panic. But she didn't feel like quibbling over the  
technicalities; all she knew was that panic and fear were dangerously  
close to the surface and it was all she could do to keep it from rising  
to the top. She was bordering on exhaustion from the effort of  
maintaining two minds, and two widely varying sets of emotions.  
  
Then the ship shifted again.  
  
She knew what was happening, she could tell this from her connection  
with Samantha. She could also feel Samantha's barely maintained panic as  
she rushed to her.  
  
Samantha opened the door and quickly came into the room. "We have to go  
now." She said in a sudden rush, the words blurring together at their  
edges. She moved to Scully's side and quickly released her. In moments  
they were outside and hurrying down a passageway.  
  
She glanced over her shoulder, looking for Scully. "Take my hand," she  
said, reaching for Scully, "we have to get out of here." Samantha tugged  
urgently on her arm.  
  
The ship shuddered again.  
  
"Where are you taking me?"  
  
"I have to get you out of here." She pulled Scully into a room and  
closed the door behind them.  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"I'm not finished yet, but I need to get you out of here."  
  
"Won't they notice I'm gone?"  
  
"Not with everything else happening. It will take awhile before you're  
missed." Responding to Scully's unspoken concern, Samantha added, "don't  
worry about me."  
  
"But if we're being attacked, then it's not safe for you to stay--"  
  
Samantha cut in, interrupting. "But if I leave now, then they will win,  
and I'll have to go back to how I was. I know what I'm doing."  
  
"I need to stay. I'm helping you." Scully pointed out.  
  
"And you'll continue to help me. But I can't risk both of us." She gave  
Scully a quiet, closed-lipped smile and leaned in to kiss her cheek.  
"I'll be following you shortly."  
  
Scully opened her mouth to protest again, but Samantha didn't let her  
finish. There was a flash of light, and Scully was gone.  
  
* * * * * *  
The shuddering of the ship had grown, and was increasing with each  
minute that passed and with each ship Samantha took out of operation.  
  
She was cutting it too close, she knew this, but she had to keep going.  
She had to make sure of the Resistance's success before abandoning the  
ship.  
  
Only a few ships left, but she continued at her work. The ship trembled  
again; protesting the unnatural stresses being placed on it. Samantha  
did her best to maintain her balance, grabbing hold of the wall nearest  
her. Then the station she was at, as well as the room she was in, lost  
power. The decision now made for her, she began to leave.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Resistance Headquarters  
Outside, Main Yard  
  
Scully was wet. Soaking wet.  
  
She was outside in the rain, in the mud.  
  
Yet she was not.  
  
She could see the ship; it was as if she was still there. But it wasn't  
the same. She was looking through eyes that were not her own.  
  
Scully watched with a certain detachment as the world was closed in on  
her. No--not her. Samantha. She was looking through Samantha's eyes.  
Their connection remained.  
  
Samantha was moving quickly down a corridor. Scully could feel the  
urgency to get off the ship, and the worry that time may have run out.  
  
And then the worry disappeared, faded into the stark light of reality.  
She wasn't running out of time; time had already left.  
  
The walls of the room buckled under the pressures exerted upon them. No  
longer able to brace herself, Samantha was tossed about carelessly as  
the ship shuddered and screeched. She could tell by the motion and the  
sensation in her stomach that the ship was fatally wounded, and was  
descending rapidly. It would only be a matter of seconds now.  
  
"No! Please God, no. Not like this." Scully called into the wind, voice  
shaking, made naked with fear. She didn't want to see. She didn't think  
she could stand it.  
  
The ship began to buckle only a few feet away from her. The vibrations  
knocked Samantha off her feet and she fell heavily onto her back.  
Shrapnel showered down on her, parts of the walls, parts of the ship,  
and a jagged piece grazed her forehead. Wincing at the sensation,  
Samantha brought a hand up to her forehead, now slick with wetness.  
Bringing her hand back down, she stared uncomprehendingly at the red  
smear across her palm. The motion of the ship seemed to settle for the  
moment as she gazed at her fingers. She looked at her hand with all the  
awe of an astronomer sighting a new star in the heavens.  
  
"Blood. It's blood." And Samantha began to laugh. A laugh of joy.  
Joy at what she'd become.  
  
And over the explosions and the screeches and groans of ripping metal  
she reached out to Scully, "Blood. It's my blood. Thank you, thank you  
for all that you've given me. And tell him...tell him that I remember  
him; I know him because of you...let him know me." Then the second  
blow came and she was falling, spinning madly through a black sky and a  
carousel ride of color. And then her world was consumed in a flash of  
light, culminating into a crescendo of silence.  
  
There was nothing.  
  
Scully was so wet, so cold. But she didn't feel any of it.  
  
The rain hit her from above, each drop an accusation. "You left her  
behind. You left her behind and Mulder will never forgive you."  
  
* * * * * *  
March 8, 1999  
Control Room  
12:06 am  
  
Mulder felt like he was only one heartbeat away from cardiac arrest.  
Scully was gone. He'd seen the last ship blink out. One second it was  
there; the next-- gone. He'd seen it blink off the screen and into  
oblivion.  
  
Gone. She was gone.  
  
He'd been waiting for this moment. Waiting and dreading it. The lead  
weight that had been hanging by a filament just above his head was  
unraveling, and he didn't care. Let it crash on him.  
  
He was already dead.  
  
He had lived up until this moment, never fully accepting that Scully was  
lost, believing that he would see her again, that he would hold her in  
his arms once more. There was always a small glimmer of hope that the  
vaccine would work, that the resistance would halt the attacks on the  
ships, that she would come back.  
  
The stunned silence that had blanketed the room was now being thrown  
off. The others were beginning to celebrate the victory.  
  
He didn't want to be around them -- them so happy at their success and  
seemingly unconcerned with what had been lost -- he stayed anyway. He  
wanted to feel the pain against this joyous backdrop. He wanted it to  
take him over until he could feel no more.  
  
Then, at that moment he heard her. It was a soft cry that seemed to come  
from within him. "Oh god, Mulder. Forgive me, forgive me."  
  
* * * * * *  
Outside, Main Yard  
  
It was as if she were just beyond Mulder's reach. He could almost touch  
her, sense her right ahead of him. Mulder opened the door and  
immediately the fierce wind assaulted him with rain. The drops pelted  
his face like tiny shards of glass, but he didn't hesitate. Acting on an  
instinct that he never realized that he had, Mulder lunged out the door  
and into the storm outside. She was out here, he could feel it. He had  
to find her.  
  
He heard muffled cries carried on the wind, but he couldn't find the  
direction they originated from. "Scully! Scully, please, answer me!"  
Panic was setting in, coloring his words red with fear.  
  
The only response was more crying. The sound swirled around him, making  
him dizzy. And then he heard her, weakly, in his mind. "I left her  
behind. Forgive me. Forgive me Mulder."  
  
He turned in the direction he now inherently knew she was, and ran to  
her. She lay on the rain-saturated ground, half curled into a fetal  
position. He rushed to her, bending down to pull her to his chest. He  
wrapped a hand around her wrist and felt the tiny flutter of her heart  
beat, her blood pulsing under the skin. Alive. She was alive.  
  
"It's ok Scully. It is all over. It's all over." He began, trying to  
find words to reassure her, anything to make her suffering stop. "We won  
Scully. The ships have been destroyed." But instead of easing her grief,  
his words only seemed to exacerbate it. She began to tremble even more  
in his arms.  
  
Mulder moved to stand, intending on carrying her back inside, but she  
prevented him. Even though she was exhausted by her ordeal, both  
mentally and physically drained, she still had the strength to stop him  
in his tracks. She clutched at his shirt, pulling him even closer to  
her. "Please don't leave me. Please. I'm so sorry Mulder. So sorry. I  
didn't mean to leave her behind. I didn't mean--" Her voice cracked as  
emotion overwhelmed her. She removed her hands from his chest and placed  
them over her face. Her shoulders began to shake even more.  
  
He carefully cupped her cheek, doing his best to clean off the mud that  
clung to her face. Gently guiding her head so that they had eye contact,  
he spoke again. "Scully what is it? You can tell me. Whatever it is..."  
  
She opened his mouth in an effort to respond, but the sob that she had  
been holding back was the only thing that passed through her lips. She  
shook her head and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Through her sobs, he  
could barely make out the words, "I can't... I can't let you know... too  
terrible..." Mulder pulled her more firmly into his embrace.  
  
Mulder was silent for several moments. He let her spill her emotions  
over him. The grief, the guilt, the anguish...  
  
"Can you show me?" He asked hesitantly, not sure if it would work, not  
sure if she would let him. "Please help me know."  
  
His words, an echo of Samantha's, made her gasp. And then she remembered  
her other words: "Let him know me."  
  
He felt her nod against his shoulder. Other than that slight movement,  
she gave no other indication that she'd heard him. He let himself open  
to her.  
  
-Flash-  
  
He saw with a clarity that startled him. The connection between them was  
growing, or perhaps their minds were becoming accustomed to the other.  
Whatever it was, it provided with stark sharpness this new sorrow.  
  
He saw a room, a white room. He was looking from her viewpoint. He saw  
them, the aliens, looking down. Pain. So much pain. He felt it in his  
chest. He wanted to pull away from it, but that would mean pulling away  
from her, and could not let her face this alone.  
  
-Flash-  
  
Another face, looking down. Samantha. Oh my god, it was Samantha! Alive.  
But Mulder began to feel a sense of dread overtake him as the image  
continued. He knew that this was the source of Scully's anguish.  
  
-Flash-  
  
He saw his sister lean in and kiss his/Scully's cheek. "I'll be  
following you shortly."  
  
-Flash-  
  
Collapsing, the world was collapsing in on him. He felt pain on his  
forehead, but it was defused, filtered through two others.  
  
-Flash-  
  
Red hands. Hands red with blood. My god what does that mean?  
  
-Flash-  
  
"Tell him that I know him..."  
  
-Flash-  
  
Laughing...laughing...  
  
-Flash-  
  
The images were abruptly cut off. Cut off, not because the connection  
had been broken, but because there were no more images to see. Mulder  
knew. He knew, and he gasped with shock at the harshness of it.  
  
Mulder pulled Scully impossibly close. His tears joined hers. Tears of  
relief that he was holding her in his arms. Tears of sorrow for the  
woman he would never get the chance to hold again.  
  
And the rain fell.  
  
* * * * * * 


	23. 23

April 4,1999  
Mesa Verde, Colorado  
8:20 pm  
  
* * * * * *  
Face the fears one by one, touch them and let them go.  
This is the beginning, this moment is new. It's time for  
a change now. Chase down your freedom, lift up your  
voice. This is your moment of choice. --Margaret Becker  
* * * * * *  
  
The sun was setting. It hung low, streaks of red, pink and orange  
dancing like liquid fire across the sky. It had been so long since Allen  
had seen a sunset like this. A sunset come alive, lending its fire to  
the earth tones of the land; the soft reds, ambers, rich loam browns,  
and bleached tans that were the natural condition in this land of wind  
and sun. He sat near the edge of an outcropping, one that he had shared  
with another so many years ago.  
  
It was unsettling, being here. The land was the same-- the same shape  
and contours. It was the small things- trees in the wrong places, people  
that seemed like they should be there, but weren't.  
  
He'd come intending to put a conclusion on this part of his life, but he  
found he was have difficulty taking the final step. He was shocked by  
the odd combination the village represented as they had walked up. Worn  
but not broken, he could easily pretend that he was looking at the  
village in early morning before everyone had risen. But the truth of his  
world would not let that image last.  
  
He'd held back as Mulder and Scully explored the site. But even as he  
stood there, Allen could see the fuzzy outlines, the faded glimpses of  
actors fleeting across a stage kept dim by eons of time and the  
circumstances of their lives. He closed his eyes to those images. He  
didn't want to see the ghosts...so many ghosts left behind.  
  
Pyka stirred next to him. Mulder and Scully were finished; he could hear  
them walking up behind him. Allen lifted his arm away from the dog's  
side and she quickly darted off to meet the couple. He could hear their  
soft murmurs of "Good girl..." as they obligingly took their turns  
scratching behind Pyka's ears. Once satisfied, she darted off again,  
this time in search of an ever-elusive lizard that had been taunting her  
all day.  
  
Allen didn't turn around, didn't take his eyes off the setting sun.  
Scully spoke. "It's lovely, isn't it?"  
  
"Yes it is." Allen agreed. Lovely was an understatement. "How was it?  
Learn anything?"  
  
Mulder moved to sit next to Allen. "Some." He turned around and brought  
his arm up. When Scully took his hand, he gently guided her to his side.  
She maneuvered to sit next to him and looked in the direction they were  
facing. The three sat in quietly for several minutes, taking in the  
view.  
  
"I'd like to hear your story." Mulder looked at Allen.  
  
"You already know what happened." Allen's voice was tired, worn, much  
like the buildings he had glimpsed earlier.  
  
"Not really." Mulder shook his head, disagreeing. "We know only the bad;  
the end isn't everything. The truth can't just be the horrible things."  
  
He glanced at Mulder's face. He could tell that the man so wanted to  
believe that was the truth. He needed that belief that this world wasn't  
made up entirely of the terrible truths he's had to face in his life.  
Allen could feel in him a comfortable sadness. Not the same sadness  
that he'd spent his life with; this sadness was one of quiet acceptance.  
The sharp edge of guilt had been blunted. He knew his sister now, knew  
the truth, knew that she had lived, had loved, had laughed. And it had  
been Scully who had given her that gift. That was enough for him.  
  
Allen didn't respond. Instead he focused his attention on the sunset,  
trying to count each shade of red and orange in the sky.  
  
"Too many memories here?" Scully asked softly.  
  
"Something like that." Allen sighed heavily. "So many were lost. I  
wanted to save them all, but couldn't. I just didn't want to give up on  
them."  
  
"We didn't have many choices." Scully reminded him. As if he needed  
reminding.  
  
"And they didn't have any," he whispered.  
  
There was a long moment of silence between them, and then Mulder spoke  
again. "Are you thinking of your brother?"  
  
If it were possible, Allen's eyes became even more filled with sadness.  
"Some. You thinking about your sister?"  
  
"Some." Mulder echoed and he glanced at Scully. Allen watched as a mixed  
looked passed between the two. Mulder studied her expression, nodding  
slightly, then looked back to the setting sun, gathering his thoughts.  
  
Allen didn't know the specifics of what had passed between the two, but  
he had an idea. While Mulder had seemed to move beyond his guilt, Scully  
had become mired in a guilt that didn't fit, a guilt that Mulder was  
doing his best to wash away.  
  
An incomplete stillness lingered over them. Mulder waited several  
moments before speaking again. "You told me that you were envious of the  
others who left. You said that they'd found something that had been  
taken from you, and you were angry at them for achieving what you could  
not."  
  
Allen sighed, feeling like he wasn't the only one who was being  
addressed. "Yes, I did say that."  
  
"Do you think that you've achieved what they did?"  
  
"Freedom?" Allen shrugged. "Sometimes it doesn't quite seem like that.  
Have you?"  
  
"I think that I have." Mulder looked to Scully, a questioning look on  
his face. She read his unspoken inquire and repeated his words. "I think  
that we both have."  
  
"It was his laugh that did it." Allen said suddenly. "That was my  
catalyst. His laugh as he lay dying. I hadn't heard it..." he paused and  
gestured around them, "the last time I'd heard it, we'd been sitting  
right here, right at this spot. I had complained that he laughed too  
much, but I never thought that it would be so long before I heard it  
again."  
  
"His laughter saved you, changed you." Scully looked sideways up at  
Allen, offering him a hint of a smile, and the world of understanding.  
  
He returned her smile. "Much like your memories of Mulder saved  
Samantha."  
  
"And everyone else." Mulder added.  
  
This silence came easier than the last. The only sound on the mesa was  
Pyka, scurrying around; stirring up the animals that resided there.  
Allen whistled briefly, and the dog came running back. She lay in front  
of the three of them, managing to stretch out far enough for all of them  
to be able to pet her.  
  
Scully absently reached down to rub her fingers through the dog's dark  
hair and asked, "What are you going to do now?"  
  
"Live. I'm going to live." Allen said simply, although there was a touch  
of melancholy in his voice.  
  
"And laugh?" She added, eyebrow raised, studying his withdrawn face.  
  
A small chuckle escaped his lips as he responded. "And laugh." Allen  
agreed, smiling. "And watch the sunset; maybe stay and watch the sun  
rise. You?"  
  
"That sounds about right." Mulder reached for Scully's hand. Removing it  
from the animal's thick fur, he smoothed his callused fingers over her  
knuckles. She let him take hold of her hand. Addressing her, he asked,  
"Don't you agree?"  
  
With out looking at either of them, she said, "I would like that."  
  
the end  
  
* * * * * *  
  
  
  
Author's Note  
  
I have a confession: I love author's notes. Read them all. I love the  
bits of insight that they give me about the writers. I also like hearing  
how writers get their ideas. So if this isn't your thing, I'm letting  
you know ahead of time so that you don't feel obligated: only ramblings  
ahead.  
  
What a strange, twisted, odd trip this has been. I had no flipn' idea  
that this story would turn out as it did. It was never going to be this  
long, it was never going to try to 'explain' everything, and it never  
was going to be a 'save the world' type story. I didn't want to go  
there; this was my first story; it was just supposed to be a short  
little ditty...That's what I kept repeating to myself as the months  
rolled past.  
  
So how did it begin? This story came about after I saw the final scene  
in Two Fathers. Cassandra was 'The One' and if they found her it would  
all begin. I began to think about what would happen if Scully were in  
her place...  
  
That's it. That's what began this journey. Everything else came up from  
that.  
  
But don't ask me where.  
  
You know how some writers speak of muses? I always thought that they  
were speaking metaphorically. They weren't. They are real creatures.  
Allusive as hell, but if you can find one, and get them to whisper in  
your ear... sigh...almost as good as sex.  
  
Here is where I also express my gratitude to those who helped me. First  
is vermin. Harsh at times (to my sensitive ears), but only because I  
needed it. Her cries of "Who is speaking??!!" and her demands of  
explaining motivations as well as consequences of actions. (I.e., you  
mean I have to explain 'why' Fowely helps them? You want to know 'how'  
Mulder got rid of CSM's body?) All of her comments helped me, and some  
of them even became part of the story. Several of Mulder and Scully's  
sarcastic inner thoughts are direct comments from vermin.  
  
I also want to thank nay. She's been with me from the very beginning.  
From when it was a three-part story, to when it was an eleven part  
story, to now. I could not have done this without her help, support and  
guidance. Her cries for "Description! I need description!!!" pointed out  
the fact that while *I* could clearly see what was happening, everyone  
else would need a little bit of help. If you can tell what's happening  
in a scene, thank her for that.  
  
She was also the one who volunteered to rewrite a scene that I hated but  
needed and made it so much better. She would make comments like: "this  
doesn't sit right with me... how about this:" and she would reword it  
perfectly. What a wonderful thing for a writer to have, I tell you. g  
  
I also want to thank David Duchovny, oddly enough. This story was  
something else entirely until I watched The Unnatural. I love that  
episode, and not just for the reasons that everyone else seems to.g  
  
ARTHUR DALES: What is it to be a human, Fox? Is it to have the  
chemistry of a man?...To be a man is to have the heart of a man.  
Integrity, decency, sympathy: these are the things that make a   
man a man and Ex had them all, had them all, more than you or I.  
  
How could an alien be like this?  
  
JOSH EXLEY: See, there's something you got to understand about  
my race. We don't have a word for laughter. We don't laugh.   
I don'tknow if you noticed in between all that fainting you was   
doing, but we have very tiny mouths, so no smiling even...I tell   
you, when I saw that baseball game being played this laughter   
just...it just rose up out of me...  
  
Could it really be that simple? Could others be saved as well?  
  
I want to thank DD, even though he's not likely to ever see this, for  
giving me what I feel is the 'heart' of the story.  
  
Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed this tale of mine.  
  
If you are feeling especially motivated, you can send me feedback at  
aprilleigh50@hotmail.com  
  
april leigh  
  
  



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